


Charlie Potatoes

by rose_malmaison



Category: NCIS
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, Fugitives, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, On the Run, Pre-Series, Season 3, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3929248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_malmaison/pseuds/rose_malmaison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case involving handcuffs brings back memories for Gibbs and DiNozzo, when they ended up being handcuffed and on the run together. "It was just the two of us behind enemy lines. Handcuffs were involved. Things got hairy for a while, but you know Gibbs. He took charge and I fell for him…hard. What can I say? He's Gibbs."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wheat-Os

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kj_svala](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kj_svala).



> Spoilers: Season 3  
> Warnings: none  
> Chapters: 10  
> Words: 39,000  
> Story Takes Place: November, 2005 - Season 3: around 3x07 Honor Code  
> Flashback - takes place: November, 2003, just prior to Season 1  
> Written for NCIS Reverse Big Bang 2015, prompted by art from kj_svala  
> Thanks to: Wikipedia, IMDB, and Mom for keeping me up late as a kid to watch the midnight movie on TV. And thanks my betas, Combatcrazy and Fireheart13, for all their input and hard work!  
> Notes: I took liberties with some police procedures, and used my imagination about some equipment. Nothing major.

**CHARLIE POTATOES**

**_Charlie Potatoes_ ** _\- an old slang term for someone who is on top of the world, usually in terms of money or popularity._

[ ](http://s952.photobucket.com/user/rose_malmaison/media/banner_title_svala.png.html)

banner art and inspiration for this story by kj_svala,  
who wanted me to write something in which Tony made Jethro laugh, despite himself  
<http://kj-svala.livejournal.com/>

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

In ** _The Defiant Ones_** (1958), John 'Joker' Jackson (played by Tony Curtis) is on the run while handcuffed to Noah Cullen (Sidney Poitier). The two men start out as enemies due to racial and other issues, but eventually become friends and help each other out when things get tough. In the end, Cullen literally sacrifices his freedom for his buddy.

Quotes from the film:

~ Jackson, who is a big talker, says that as soon as he is free, he's heading for Rio. "And I'll be Charlie Potatoes, comin' down the street, with a Panama hat and a good-lookin' gal."

  
~ Cullen: "Go on, tell me all that big talk about Charlie Potatoes, when the chains are off and nobody's chasing you. Come on. You can't, can you? You can't because you're nothing."

 

~ Jackson, when they're about to be re-captured, huffs, "Charlie Potatoes. I'm mashed potatoes now."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

**CHAPTER 1**

**_November, 2005_ **

 

Tony was putting the Wheat-Os on the kitchen table when Jethro appeared, still half asleep. "Mornin'," Tony said, delivering a kiss to Jethro's unshaven cheek.

 

"Mmm. Wha's time?" Honing in on the coffee pot, Jethro rubbed his head, causing his already messy hair to stand up on end.

 

"It's eight," Tony said. He handed Jethro a red mug that proclaimed, 'Keep Calm and Trust the Special Agent,' while surreptitiously checking him out. The faded old t-shirt and sagging flannel pj bottoms had seen better days, but Tony found his lover's soft old clothing rather endearing. Not for the first time, he imagined what Leroy must have been like as a kid: stubborn, a daredevil, always getting in trouble. And cute, too, no doubt. He would bet that as a young man Leroy had caused a few hearts to beat quickly, back in that small town he came from, especially when he broke out in one of his rare smiles. Tony snorted and thought, ' _Not so different from how he is as an adult.'_

 

Jethro gulped down some steaming black coffee and gave a moan of satisfaction. "Needed that."

 

"You needed the sleep," Tony pointed out. It came out sounding more like 'I told you so' than he intended. Last night had been the first real rest they'd had in who-knows-how-long. It had been one tough case after another, following hard on the heels of Gibbs' final confrontation with Ari Haswari.

 

Jethro just drank his coffee and grunted.

 

Tony had read the official report, and he'd heard Gibbs' side of the story, but he knew there was more to it than Gibbs facing off the terrorist in his own basement. Tony sighed, knowing he'd probably never know what really occurred. _Wrap up the case and walk away from it or else it'll eat at you_ , Gibbs had said more than once. It wasn't easy but Tony had decided to follow that rule, reminding himself that what really mattered was that Kate's killer was dead.

 

The drawn look Jethro had had for the past couple of days was gone, and he had some color in his cheeks but one night's sleep in his own bed wasn't going to make up for weeks of being on the job. Tony reached over and rubbed Jethro's back. "You push yourself too hard. The last thing either of us needs right now is to get sick, Jethro."

 

"I look sick to you?" Jethro demanded, sending Tony a glare that was somewhat muted due to the fact his eyes were half-closed.

 

 _No_ , Tony wanted to say. _You look exhausted_. Even if he _was_ damned fit and bore himself like a Marine, Jethro had his limitations. Not that he would ever admit it. Asking for help was not one of Jethro's attributes, as Tony had discovered soon after he'd met him back in Baltimore.

 

Well, Jethro was going to get help anyway because Tony had taken it upon himself to ensure his wellbeing, and no amount of growling was going to make Tony shirk his responsibilities. Tony smiled and said, "We all know that germs run for the hills whenever they see you coming. Just the same, babe, there's a first time for everything."

 

Jethro looked hard at Tony and asked, "And what about you, _babe_?"

 

Okay, apparently calling him babe was not a good thing first thing in the morning. "What _about_ me? I'm not the one who pulled several all-nighters in a row."

 

"Huh. Funny, 'cause I coulda sworn that was you on my six."

 

"Only because I missed you in bed." The past few nights, Tony had stayed by Gibbs' side when he had been too stubborn to leave work. Tony had slept on the carpeted floor under his desk even though he'd longed for their own bed and for the comfort of Jethro's strong arms around him. Not exactly hat he'd call restful nights. "Good thing we caught the guy or else you'd still be at your desk, Boss. I was about to roll our bed into the bullpen; my back was starting to kill me." Tony pulled a face of exaggerated pain, placed a hand in the small of his back, and let out a small whine.

 

Jethro said in an exasperated tone, "I _told_ you to go home for a reason, Tony. It's only been a few months since…"

 

Tony conjured up a disarming smile and shrugged. "Hey, I'm no longer hacking up a lung every morning like a pack-a-day smoker, _and_ I'd like to point out, in case you hadn't noticed, I can even go on my usual run without needing to call 911." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he shouldn't have said them.

 

Jethro glared at Tony and demanded, "You think maybe that's because that trip to the hospital knocked some sense into you?"

 

Hanging his head, Tony sighed. "Okay, I learned my lesson, Jethro. Look, that… _incident_ was weeks ago. I'm fine now."

 

"You overdo it again and I'm gonna…"

 

"Hey, I'm not going to! Brad said I could resume my running and I've been working my way up slowly," Tony said in his own defense. Jethro knew all this but he still seemed doubtful so Tony tried to lighten the mood. "You know, my doctor _can_ still do a mean tackle, so believe me, I listen to him."

 

Jethro grunted and still didn't seem convinced so Tony wrapped his arms around Jethro's waist and leaned into him, careful not to jog the coffee mug. As expected, a second later Jethro slid his free arm around Tony's shoulders and hugged him tight. "I can't help it. I worry," he whispered in Tony's ear.

 

They kissed, a slow slide of lips and tongues, and when they parted Tony said softly, "It works both ways, you know."

 

Jethro loosened his hold on Tony so he could look into his eyes. "I don't want to _ever_ come home and find you like that again…you got that?"

 

"Yes, Jethro," Tony said meekly.

 

Jethro studied him with suspicion but after a moment he nodded. "Okay. Breakfast."

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

The hottest and most humid day in August was not the best day to go for a run, and Tony had been sweating from the first step. He had known he was in trouble within a couple of miles, but he'd pushed hard, wanting to get back home so he wouldn't have to call Jethro to come to his rescue. He had barely made it home and stumbled onto the porch, his heart racing madly, his damaged lungs trying – and failing – to compensate for the strenuous exercise.

 

He must have blacked out because next thing he'd known Jethro was slapping his cheek and calling his name. "Damn it, Tony! _Tony_!"

 

Tony had never seen Gibbs so close to panic before. Admittedly he, too, had been freaking out in his own way, what with the gasping, and the vision going dark around the edges, and he was pretty sure he was gonna die at any moment. Even more frightening had been the way the way-too-serious EMTs had scooped him up and rushed him to the hospital with a full complement of lights and sirens.

 

 _If they don't think I have a hope in hell of making it, then I'm a goner_ , Tony had thought just before he'd passed out again.

 

Waking up with a tube down his throat had felt like the worst thing ever. Well, maybe second to never waking up at all. To make matters worse, they'd tied his wrists to the bed, and he had been frustrated at being unable to communicate until Abby had visited, reminding Tony that he could fingerspell in basic ASL. It hadn't been easy to shout at doctors with his fingers, but Tony had done his best with Abby dutifully translating for him. It had taken ages to convince them to start weaning him off the ventilator, but then Jethro had come to his defense and eventually the tube was removed.

 

For a while it had been so hard to breathe that Tony had _almost_ asked them to put him back on the ventilator, but Jethro had held his hand tightly and coached him until he remembered how to breathe on his own. Eventually, Tony had believed he just might make it after all, and he'd fallen asleep with Jethro gently stroking his hair.

 

After a couple more days spent hanging around in the uncomfortable hospital bed, while tethered to a lot of machines and pumped full of medications that made him feel nauseous, Tony had finally been sent home. His gift bag had contained several vials of prescription meds as well as strict instructions to curtail his physical activity for a week.

 

"Yes, a week," Ducky had said. "And that means avoiding any activity that raises your heart rate over 100," he had added with a knowing look.

 

"Oh c'mon, Ducky! I read a study that men expend more energy thinking and talking about sex than actually doing it," Tony had complained. "Your heart rate and blood pressure during sex are about the same as…as raking leaves."

 

"Then I suggest you refrain from raking any leaves. I would like to remind you, Anthony, that after you had the plague, you curtailed your convalescence and came back to work far too early, and look where that got you," had been Ducky's comeback.

 

"Yeah, but Gibbs needed me," he'd pointed out to an unimpressed Ducky.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

After the running/lungs-not-working/rushing-to-the-hospital incident, Gibbs had sat Tony down and made him memorize a whole slew of new rules that all began with 'DiNozzo will not–'.

 

Rule #1: DiNozzo will not return to work after any kind of injury without being cleared by two medical doctors of whom Gibbs approves. In writing.

Rule #2: DiNozzo will not lie, conceal, prevaricate, mislead or otherwise hide any health issues from Gibbs.

Rule #3: DiNozzo will not go running without a buddy unless he gets written permission from Gibbs first.

 

Tony knew he had to apologize to Jethro for worrying him. "Look, I get it. You're not alone. I scared the shit out of myself, Boss. Believe me, I never want to get up close and personal to suffocating again." Tony then managed to convince Jethro that having his cock sucked wasn't exactly exerting himself. "They say that the MOB position – man on the bottom – is less strenuous, and I'll be happy to lie here and take whatever you're willing to give me," he'd said with a grin.

 

By the time morning had rolled around, although Jethro had long-since forgiven Tony, he'd still made him recite the new rules and had punctuated the lesson with a light headslap.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

"Orange juice?" Tony asked, pouring a couple of glasses of juice and setting them on the table without waiting for an answer.

 

"You're always pushing the limits," Jethro pointed out, not moving away from the coffee maker.

 

Tony said, "You're not exactly Mr. I-need-a-hand, you know. I could remind you of that time we were undercover together in Virginia. You were stubborn as hell when I wanted to help you, even though you were hurt pretty badly."

 

"Don't remind me," Jethro replied in a long-suffering voice.

 

"But you gave in."

 

"Yeah, well, you were pretty persistent," was Jethro's reply.

 

"Like Ducky says, we're not so different, you and me," Tony observed, smiling.

 

"The difference is, I know my limits," Jethro said, apparently believing what he was saying.

 

Barely refraining from scoffing, Tony sat at the table and said, "I'm just looking out for you, Jethro."

 

Jethro gave an almost imperceptible nod before busying himself replenishing his mug of coffee.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony was the kind of guy who appreciated beauty, whether in film, in music, in the physical appearance of both men and women. He was pretty much bowled over by Gibbs right from the start – what with his 'I'm doing this my way' attitude and his piercing blue eyes – but Tony never envisioned that their relationship might advance to anything beyond being colleagues.

 

He might enjoy Gibbs' good looks and admire him as a man, because Gibbs _was_ pretty hot even when he was scowling and (especially when he was) about to rip into some poor unsuspecting soul, but Tony just didn't look at him in a sexual way. He may have pictured what Gibbs looked like naked, especially after a sneaking a peak at his well-toned ass and back during a HazMat shower, and Tony may have wondered what kind of lover Gibbs was every time saw him with a woman, but for some reason, Tony had never seen _himself_ as part of that picture.

 

So, after they had been working together for a couple of years, and Tony started experiencing these odd feelings and unusual reactions to his boss (what Abby had called 'the warm and fuzzies'), it took him a while to recognize them for what they were. And when he finally _did_ face reality, all Tony could think was, "Oh fuck, I've got the hots for the boss. He's gonna find out. I am going to fucking _die_."

 

It turned out that Gibbs wasn't all that blind to Tony's finer points, either, although it took a mission-gone-wrong, with tension high and danger imminent, before either of them would admit their mutual attraction.

 

After Tony had overcome the shock of the whole thing, he'd realized that he'd been blind and stupid and in denial, but then, apparently so had Gibbs. Suddenly there was hope…and expectation and possibility. It was an incredible, life-changing occasion, like when Professor Challenger discovered prehistoric creatures in modern times in _The Lost World_ – only in Tony's version, his dangerous adventure had led to the discovery of Gibbs, instead of pterodactyls armed with wicked beaks and sharp talons. (Some might debate that there was little difference between the two, but Tony knew otherwise.)

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Strangely enough, they were able to keep their relationship quiet, and without really trying. While at work, they never talked about anything that would give a clue that they were a couple. Tony didn't drive in with Gibbs. Gibbs didn't ask Tony to pick up some milk on the way home. Gibbs didn't touch Tony any more than usual, and maybe he even cut back on the head slaps a bit. Tony didn't flirt with him or call him Jethro, or sneak a quick kiss in the elevator – even though there were times he was dying to do so. Even more surprising, they didn't find it too difficult to keep work and home lives separate. Tony theorized that was because they'd always separated work from home life, like many cops did, as a way of keeping sane.

 

Tony frequented his apartment less and less over time, but as he had rarely invited friends over anyway, nobody noticed. He usually met them at a club or restaurant, and that didn't change.

 

Abby was the only one who seemed to pick up on the strong vibes between Gibbs and Tony, but then she'd always said (half-jokingly) that they really should hook up together, and that she'd pay to watch them getting it on.

 

"I knew it!" she squealed, jumping up and down, her pigtails flying joyfully about her face.

 

That was after she punched Tony for not telling her.

 

Which was after Gibbs left her lab in a hurry, saying she should talk to Tony.

 

Which was after she saw them standing shoulder to shoulder in her lab, listening attentively while she explained, "…and so by my calculations of the bullet's trajectory, Ensign Granger was shot by a sniper in a supine position on the fourth floor of this building…or else the shot was taken by a twelve-foot tall man on the third floor…" Abby narrowed her eyes, aware that the two men weren't giving her findings the attention they required. "Sooooo…what is it about you guys that's setting off my Gibbs-Nozzo radar today?"

 

"Nothing," Tony said quickly, turning to Gibbs ("You talk to Tony") only to find he was already halfway to the elevator. "Coward!" Tony called after him.

 

It took a really big hug and a pinkie-swear promise from Tony that he'd share all the dirt, just to keep Abby quiet. Tony also had to extend an invitation (acquired under duress) to a sleepover that night.

 

He managed to escape upstairs, where he hunted down Gibbs in the break room and punched him in the arm after making sure nobody was looking.

 

Gibbs scowled, holding his upper arm. "What the hell, DiNozzo?"

 

Tony flapped his hand around, crying out in pain, because Gibbs' arm was as hard as iron. "Ow! That hurt. You deserved that for deserting me. You'd better be prepared to wear your best jammies tonight because I promised Abby she could come over. She's gonna ask questions, Boss."

 

Gibbs actually turned a little pale. "To our house? Questions?"

 

Rolling his eyes, Tony said, "Yeah, and she's probably going to quiz you on whether the Bulldog or the Pyramid provides a better penetration angle."

 

Gibbs looked at Tony with interest. "Is the Pyramid that one where you stick your butt in the air…?"

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~


	2. The Next Level

**CHAPTER 2 - The Next Level**

**NCIS: My Other Left Foot, 1x12  
** Kate: (about Gibbs) Three red-headed ex-wives shows his judgment is a little questionable.

 **NCIS: Driven, 4x11**  
Woman: DOD policy is very clear about this point, miss. You must first ask permission before making physical contact with a coworker.  
Abby: Like, _every_ time?

~ • ~

 

They'd been having sex (a lot of it) for two years, and yet Tony had only recently moved into Gibbs' home, taking it (their relationship) to the next level. Not that Tony minded that it (their relationship) evolved naturally. Just spending time outside of work with Jethro was fine with him, and Jethro seemed more than satisfied to spend Friday nights cooking steaks for dinner and watching a game on TV with Tony. Saturday mornings were basement+boat time. Saturday afternoons might be for taking Tony to a boat show or playing touch football with old friends, and Sunday mornings were for making love and having a late breakfast. Mondays were for going back to work as if they didn't know each other outside the Navy Yard walls.

 

Their relationship at home bore some resemblance to the way they related at work; Jethro took charge most of the time and Tony followed. Jethro still spent a lot of time in the basement, but Tony did his own thing, came and went as he wished, and often joined his friends for poker or a night out dancing. At the end of the day, no matter what either of them had been doing, Tony and Jethro spent some quiet time together. Sometimes they'd watch a movie or game, or sit out back on the deck with a beer. They'd talk about their day, small stuff really, not about work.

 

When it got late, they'd make their way upstairs where they'd make love. Jethro was a quiet lover, attentive and strong, and he never failed to show Tony how much he loved him with every kiss and caress. Tony tended to be vocal, with lots of groans and cries of 'fuck me harder,' which he soon found out Jethro secretly loved. Tony took whatever Jethro threw at him, no matter how rough or aggressive, and after they'd brought each other to orgasm, Tony would drape himself over Jethro, sighing with contentment, and Jethro would stroke his hair until they fell asleep.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

"Something wrong?"

 

Tony shrugged, unsure how to say it. "It's just…it's…it's been two years."

 

Jethro raised an eyebrow. "Since what?"

 

"Since _what_?" In a rush, Tony said, "I love you, I do, I _really_ do, but we've been together for two whole _years_ , Jethro, and the sex has been…wow…like really phenomenal…but I just…I don't…Hell, this isn't working for me. I mean it's not where I expected us to be and I get the feeling that maybe we're not entirely committed and I know that's a word neither of us like to say aloud, but…I need to move forward and…damn it."

 

Jethro appeared to be unusually pale as he stood staring at Tony. "You done?"

 

With a sigh, Tony nodded. "Yeah, guess I'm done."

 

Advancing a step, Jethro pinned Tony in place with his sharp blue eyes. "You saying _we're_ done?"

 

"What?"

 

"You're leaving me," Jethro said, looking equal parts angry and devastated.

 

"Oh no! God no. _No_ , Jethro," Tony said, pulling Jethro into his arms. "I didn't mean it to sound like that."

 

A few minutes later, after some heavy sighs of relief and clinging, and some hot follow-up kisses, Jethro pulled back and took a long, hard look at Tony. He sighed out through his nose and said, "I'll install a bigger hot-water heater, and re-grout the tiles. You're always complaining about the shower going cold. That good?"

 

"Yeah, I'd like that," Tony replied, smiling at Jethro's choice of a peace offering.

 

Jethro kissed him, not quite so desperately this time. "I wouldn't do this for just anybody, you know."

 

"But you'd do it for me."

 

"I'd do anything for you," Jethro admitted, looking a bit frightened when the words slipped out.

 

Tony almost teared up. "I know you would. And I love you so bad it hurts sometimes."

 

Jethro looked a little emotional himself. He reached down took hold of Tony's hand, squeezing it hard. "I know."

 

"Wow, we're a couple of big wusses."

 

"Speak for yourself," Jethro shot back.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

Their relationship wasn't always sweetness and light. Occasionally they clashed; more in the beginning than they did now, but a couple of their fights had been doozies. Their disagreements tended to play out like rounds in the boxing ring, complete with fancy footwork (Tony) and not-so-gentle jabs (Jethro) – until Tony, who was perfectly capable of holding his own, would land a counterpunch that bounced Jethro into the corner.

 

They'd move away to cool down and Jethro would stand there looking pissed at the world in general. Tony would curl up on the couch and pretend he wasn't watching Jethro out of the corner of his eye. Then one of them would reach out a tentative hand, usually Jethro, and that would be all it took. They'd end up in each other's arms, mumbling awkward apologies into warm and welcoming skin, and move up to the bedroom where they'd find common ground in the give and take of sexual pleasure.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Living with another person was a whole new experience for Tony, and he looked at it as a serious step towards long-term commitment. Yes, he did believe in commitment, even if he'd had little experience with it, other than his aborted engagement to Wendy. Tony wanted to do it right, so no way was he going to follow in Senior's footsteps by repeating his numerous and unforgivable mistakes. Jethro was far too important to him to even consider failure.

 

Jethro had a history with bad marriages, too, and they both knew he'd put his job before his spouse on more than one occasion. Tony had the advantage of knowing Jethro through work. He lived the life, too. He _got_ the stress, understood what violence did to people, felt how each and every case affected those involved, knew what it felt like to kill a man, to lose a victim, to come home empty-handed, empty-hearted. Tony could empathize, sympathize, and deal with all aspects of living in close quarters with a law enforcement officer. He could love him, too, and take care of him, and watch out for him at home, just as much – if not more than he did at work.

 

It wasn't easy for either Jethro or Tony to shake the ingrained habits of bachelorhood. Habits that might have been fine when they lived alone didn't fly any more, such as Jethro's inclination to sleep all night on the couch, his belief that a can of beans constituted dinner, and the way he disappeared into the basement for hours on end without a word. And then there was Tony's tendency to leave a trail of wet towels, dirty socks and empty chip packets around. The way he threw his laundry in the machine and always forgot to finish it; he still drank milk directly from the carton, and left his running shoes in the middle of the hall for Jethro to trip over.

 

They soon figured out that in order to cohabit, they had to find common ground, whether in the kitchen, bathroom or bedroom.

 

"Jethro, you are not using sauce out of a jar!"

"I wanted to make dinner for you for a change."

"That is sooo sweet of you, Jethro. Nobody's ever…not like…"

"You all right, Tony?"

"I'm fine…Don't look at me!"

"Are you…?"

"I told you not to _look_ at me!"

 _Pause_. "How about you show me how to make a sauce the right way then?"

"You want to learn? From scratch?"

"Uh…sure."

 

 

"Hey! You call this making the bed, Tony?"

"Well yeah. It's Sunday. I figured we'd be messing it up again real soon. Like now, maybe?"

"Huh."

"Is that all you've got to say?"

"Pretty much. I knew there had to be a reason you were walking around naked this morning."

"Do I _need_ a reason to be naked?"

"Apparently not."

 

 

"If I can't top you, Jethro, can I at least _be_ on top?"

"You're not always gonna get your own way, you know."

"And you can stop grinning at me like that, Tony."

_Bigger grin._

"All right, fine! Fine!"

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Moving past Jethro, who was standing by the sink drinking his second (or third) cup of coffee, Tony grabbed the milk out of the fridge and took his seat at the small kitchen table. He prepared himself a bowl of Wheat-Os with half-and-half and lots of sugar. He favored Fruit Loops or Cap'n Crunch but they'd run out, and what with them both working such long hours the past few weeks it looked like nobody had done the food shopping. Tony sniffed the milk but it seemed okay. Adding slices of banana on top of the wheat cereal didn't do much to disguise its wet-cardboard taste and texture, but he made do.

 

 

 

Aware of everything Jethro was doing behind him without ever turning his head, Tony could tell that he had topped off his coffee and was sipping it while looking out the kitchen window. It sometimes took three large mugs for Jethro to work his way out of what Tony referred to as 'hibernation mode'.

 

 

 

While Jethro was busy caffeinating himself, Tony picked up the newspaper (they were the only people on the entire street who still had a newspaper delivered to the doorstep every morning) and looked over the headlines.

 

 

 

A couple of minutes later Jethro settled in the chair opposite Tony and placed the coffee pot in the center of the table. Tony glanced at Jethro from under his eyelashes. There was a cowlick of gray hair standing up like a question mark on the crown of his head and Tony squashed a strong inclination to reach over to smooth it down. Or to make fun of it just so he could see the tips of Jethro's ears turn a delicious shade of pink. He loved doing that, seeing his man get all embarrassed and trying so damned hard not to show it. Instead, Tony pushed the cereal box across the table.

 

 

 

Jethro wordlessly prepared a bowl of cereal for himself – no sugar, lots of milk – but he had barely started to dig in when he gave an annoyed little sigh and dropped his spoon in the bowl with a clatter. He said, his voice still gravelly from sleep, "Okay, so I was _tired_."

 

 

 

Tony stared at Jethro. "Tired…?" Not only did Jethro never admit he was sick but he also never admitted he was _tired_. The truth of the matter was that Tony had never actually seen Jethro with any kind of ailment, not even a cold, although he'd suffered his share of injuries in the four years Tony had known him. There was the dislocated shoulder that Ducky said was likely to happen again if he wasn't careful, and that he should seriously consider surgery to stabilize it. Of course that had fallen on deaf ears. There had been various contusions, concussions, and a couple of minor gunshot wounds, plus Jethro had aggravated the knee he'd injured in the Gulf more than once.

 

 

 

Jethro was a strong man and not one to complain, and Tony understood all about keeping your problems to yourself, but there were times when he wished that Jethro would just tell him how he was feeling, if it hurt, if there was anything Tony could do for him.

 

 

 

Tony wondered if tired was a code word for _sick_ , but Jethro was a straight-talking kinda guy so Tony took what he'd said at face value. Instead of making a big thing out of Jethro's reluctant admission, Tony agreed, "We're all tired. It's been a tough few weeks." After a moment he added, "Some fine teamwork, Boss. The probies did a good job. I think Ziva's getting the hang of things now. Well, except for her issue with idioms. You know, not fully comprehending that 'being stabbed in the back' is not to be taken literally."

 

 

 

Out of nowhere, Jethro said quietly, "I miss Kate," and Tony agreed without hesitation.

 

 

 

A sense of loss threatened to overwhelm him even though Kate had been killed…what was it…five?…no, six months ago. It had been really tough at first, seeing her empty desk every day and feeling her presence even though she was no longer with them in person. How many times had he turned to say something to her, only to find there was nobody there?

 

 

 

Tony had lost fellow officers in the line of duty before, but never anyone so close or in such a violent way, and he was having a hard time dealing with it. The deep-set pain and anger struck him at the oddest times, like the first time he'd seen Ziva lounging nonchalantly at Kate's desk as if she'd had the right to be there. How he'd managed to stay in his seat and not go over there and drag her out of it…

 

 

 

Tony took a deep breath and concentrated on eating. Jethro's hand settled on top of his, able to offer comfort in a way that warmed him right down to his core. Just one touch did things to Tony's heart that he would never be able to explain to anyone. Their eyes met, and Tony smiled and dipped his head, a little overcome by seeing how deep his man's love was for him; it was naked and almost raw and it took his breath away. He would never know what he'd done to be so lucky but he knew enough not to ask.

 

 

 

After a minute, Jethro went back to eating, as did Tony. He munched on the unappealing cereal for a bit and then waved his spoon at Jethro. "You know all those backup knives Ziva hides all over herself? Tucked in her boots, in the small of her back? It's like they're a part of her, like the way I feel naked without my gun. Or how something feels just wrong when you go out without me on your six."

 

 

 

Jethro nodded in understanding, and asked, "So how many knives do you think she's got?"

 

 

 

Tony gave a wicked smile. "I've counted six that I can be certain of, but there could be more. I can't be sure without frisking her. What d'you think?"

 

 

 

"I think if you try, you're gonna lose some fingers," Jethro said wryly.

 

 

 

Tony replied, "No, that's okay. I'd rather keep all my parts intact." He peered at Jethro from under his eyelashes and asked casually, "So, you want to join the pool that says Ziva is sleeping with Madam Director? You need to provide proof in order to win. I can just see them together…"

 

 

 

If Tony hadn't been picturing the two women having hot, noisy sex, he might have been prepared for Jethro reaching over and slapping him on the side of the head. "What?" Tony asked innocently.

 

 

 

Jethro asked sharply, "You want to get in her pants, Tony?"

 

 

 

Tony could see the warning glint in Jethro's eyes and although the slap hadn't been more than a tap, he got the message. Just the same, Tony smirked, purposely misunderstanding him. "Me, with Jenny? No thanks. She's more your type: hot, female and a redhead."

 

 

 

Jethro's expression darkened and for a couple of seconds Tony wasn't sure which way it would go, but for the first time since he'd walked into the kitchen, Jethro relaxed with a smirk. He looked Tony up and down and said in a low voice, "That's where you're wrong, Tony. That's not _my_ type any more."

 

 

 

Tony grinned in delight. "Goes double for me, Jethro."

 

 

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

 

 

Last night had been their first decent night's sleep in a week. They had just finished a month of grueling back-to-back cases, surviving on not much more than coffee, take-out food and sheer willpower, putting in long hours with too-little sleep. Every night, when it became apparent that they could achieve nothing more, Gibbs would reluctantly send his people home, ordering them to return by 0700. And every night Tim and Tony would groan and make a bit of a fuss, while Ziva made fun of them and acted as if sleep deprivation was normal for her. Despite all the griping, they were all back at their desks before the appointed time, picking up right where they'd left off the night before.

 

 

 

Whenever Jethro had made it to bed he'd been restless, worrying over their latest murder case rather than getting the sleep he so desperately needed. Towards the end of the long haul, Tony stuck it out and stayed at work all night, too, determined to be there for his boss. They did some stakeouts, drove around in the pre-dawn hours, followed elusive leads. Tony was dead tired throughout but he didn't care so long as he was with Gibbs.

 

 

 

The suspect in their latest case, a civilian who worked at the Navy Yard, had been clever enough to cover his tracks, and it took several days to just get a lead on the guy. In the end, all the hard work the MCRT put in, as well as their sheer doggedness, paid off and they captured their suspect without a single gunshot. He was interrogated and booked, and Gibbs' team was finally able to go home.

 

 

 

Paperwork finally completed, Gibbs had ordered, "Everyone go home. Don't come in until ten tomorrow."

 

 

 

McGee had muttered wearily, "Thank God," yet he had somehow found the energy to tell Ziva how he'd been playing _Agent USA_ on the Commodore 64 he'd refurbished while walking to the elevator.

 

 

 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Tony had planted himself in front of Gibbs' desk. "You coming?"

 

 

 

Gibbs had looked up slowly, his face etched with lines of exhaustion. He just jerked his chin at Tony, indicating he should go on home.

 

 

 

But Tony hadn't moved. He'd considered staying put and snoozing in his chair, but if he had done that, Gibbs would have never left. So Tony had placed his hands on Gibbs' desk and leaned forward, saying quietly but firmly, "You need to come home with me, Jethro."

 

 

 

Gibbs had looked up, meeting Tony's eyes, his ingrained stubborn streak coming to light. Tony had whispered, "Please." A second later it was gone like a puff of smoke and Gibbs… _Jethro_ …was turning off his computer and desk lamp, saying, "Yeah, okay." They had traveled down to the lobby and walked out to the parking lot in silence, got in their respective cars with barely a nod to each other and headed out.

 

 

 

Even though Tony had driven pretty fast, Jethro had arrived first. His truck was already sitting on the narrow strip to one side of the detached garage. Tony drove his Mustang into the garage where it would be safe, and Jethro helped him close the heavy swing doors. The two men had staggered upstairs to their bedroom without even stopping for a bite to eat. Tony had stripped down and collapsed into bed, mumbling, "'Night." Jethro had done pretty much the same thing, falling into bed with a groan.

 

 

 

~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~

 

 

If anyone had asked Tony when he'd fallen for Gibbs, he could have told them the exact date. "November," he would say. "It was back in '03, during an undercover op. It was just the two of us behind enemy lines. Handcuffs were involved. Things got hairy for a while, but you know Gibbs. He took charge and I fell for him…hard. What can I say? He's Gibbs."

 

Morrow had decided to use his best two-man team on a vitally important mission. It would only take a day. They'd save the world and would still be home for dinner. Of course nothing ever went as planned.

 

In a roundabout way they _did_ save the world, although Tony and Gibbs ended up running for their lives – without backup, weapons, communication with NCIS, or transport. They did, however, have each other, and that, as they would always remember, was what was important when the chips were down.

 

After the mission was over, and Tony and Jethro (Tony was still calling him Boss or Gibbs at that point) were recovering from their various injuries, they decided to play it cool. Actually, Gibbs had made the decision to wait until Tony had fully recovered before taking their relationship any further. As usual, Tony had followed his lead.

 

Gibbs had insisted that Tony stay at his house, and once Tony had been cleared to return to desk duty, Gibbs had driven him to and from the Navy Yard. Everything had seemed so normal at work, without even a hint that Gibbs considered him anything more than a colleague. If they hadn’t returned to Gibbs’ home every evening, and shared some rather chaste kisses before retiring to their own rooms, Tony would have believed that the closeness that had grown between him and Gibbs while on the run had been entirely in his imagination.

 

Tony waited for Gibbs to speak up. Gibbs remained silent on the matter. Tony fretted. He stewed and second-guessed, and waited some more. Gibbs looked at him sideways a few times, but he never opened his mouth about what had happened between them.

 

Tony finally faced Gibbs about his feelings. "I can't just to pretend like nothing happened. It’s one thing at work, and I get it, but nobody’s watching us…and it’s been a couple of weeks, Jethro." They had both avoided talking about what had happened during their undercover operation. Unsure about what their future held, Tony blurted, "Have you forgotten? Because you're acting like we didn't have a thing…"

 

"A thing?"

 

"Yeah, like a connection, a moment, a…" Tony hadn’t been able to bring himself to say the word 'promise.'

 

"You think I would forget?" Gibbs had demanded harshly before pushing Tony against the fridge and leaning in for a thorough kiss that had left Tony weak at the knees. Panting against Tony’s mouth, Gibbs had said in a low voice, “We’ll talk once you’re cleared.”

 

“I’m fine…”

 

“You wince whenever you bend over, DiNozzo, so don’t tell me your ribs don’t still hurt,” Gibbs had said bluntly.

 

“Well, you don’t have to sound so angry about it,” Tony had complained, while thinking that more than his ribs were hurting. At that moment, his heart had felt pretty bruised, too.

 

Gibbs had taken him in his arms and had sighed into his hair. “I want you in my bed. Right now. But it’s not going to happen until you get the green light from the doctors.” He’d pulled back and had carefully inspected Tony’s face. “You know I care about you, right?”

 

Tony had smiled and had let Gibbs hug him for a while longer, thinking that maybe Gibbs cared about him as much as he cared for Gibbs, and that there just _might_ be a chance that this was about something more than two hard-working, lonely, screwed-up men clinging to each other because nobody else would have them.

 

The trouble was that Tony wasn’t very good at exhibiting patience, and the closer he got to making a full recovery from his injuries, the more antsy he became. Talking too much, making off-color jokes, harassing his team members got him dark looks and, “Cut it out, DiNozzo,” from Gibbs about five times a day. At home, Tony had really let loose, and Gibbs had ended up delivering a headslap to the back of Tony’s head when he’d cranked up some music and had danced around the kitchen while chopping vegetables, singing, “I’m a Material Girl.”

 

That slap to the head made Tony lay down the law. "No head-slapping. I mean when we're not at work, because I'm not going to take that away from you. Not that I could stop you, but I guess I could try harder at ducking. I mean, I sort of like it, in a twisted 'I deserve to be reminded I'm being an ass and that you care enough to remind me' kind of way. But no slapping during off-hours. Okay?"

 

Gibbs had nodded, looking solemn. "You finished, DiNozzo?"

 

"Ummm…yeah, I think that's about it. For now. Gibbs."

 

"You sure? Because I don't want to hear any more yabba yabba when we're upstairs."

 

"We're going upstairs?"

 

“Ducky told me you’ve been cleared just before we left today. Or maybe you don't want to do this in a bed?"

 

Tony had grinned. "A bed, Jethro? Am I ready? Hell, yeah!" He started hopping up and down in place, and Gibbs rolled his eyes and pushed Tony in the right direction.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**


	3. Hot and Heavy

**CHAPTER 3 - Hot and Heavy**

**Note:** There really is a marine (boat) soap that says it 'removes grease, oil, algae and fish.' It seems perfect for Gibbs.

**NCIS: Secrets, 9x15  
** Ducky (to Tony): Jethro coped with his pain by repeatedly marrying the wrong woman, thus ensuring that ultimately he would be alone and safe from heartbreak. You repeatedly chased the wrong woman. You're alone because you never did as you just said: put it all behind you.

~ • ~

 

For the first few months, things between them had been hot and heavy. In fact, there was so much sex, Tony had a hard time thinking about anything _except_ sex. And Jethro. He thought about Jethro a lot, like all the time.

 

The new agent, Kate, had sharp eyes and her file claimed she was a profiler, so there was a lot of sneaking around involved. A couple of months later they got their very own probie, and even if McGee was dewy with innocence, he seemed to have a sense for when something was off, so they had to be even more sneaky. Gibbs seemed to get a kick out of it.

 

They never so much as touched hands while at work. No eye-fucking or private looks. No fooling around in the elevator. No lunchtime blowjobs in an empty office. Once they left the premises though, all bets were off.

 

They'd end up at whoever's place was closer, and no matter how tired they were or how late it was, there was always time for sex.

 

Sometimes, when neither of them could wait a minute longer, Gibbs would pull into any convenient motel parking lot at a hundred miles an hour, screeching to a halt in front of the first vacancy he saw. They'd be half naked and sucking face before the lock was even engaged.

 

The locations might vary but the pattern rarely did. The minute the door was shut behind them, Tony would push Gibbs against the nearest hard surface and they'd kiss until they were both breathing hard. At times Tony'd go straight to the meat of the matter and drop to his knees, pulling Gibbs' zipper down as he went, latching his mouth onto Jethro's cock, all in one smooth action. Tony loved it when Gibbs placed his big hand in his hair, gently but firmly guiding him. Gibbs liked to be warmed up and Tony did his best to suck Jethro's brains out through his dick, but they rarely finished up in the hallway, what with Gibbs' bad knee and Tony's preference for a firm mattress.

 

A soon as they were horizontal, they'd tussle a bit in what Tony thought of as _the fight he'd never win_ , but then Gibbs' fingers would be fucking deep in his ass and Tony would lose it and start demanding (Gibbs called it begging), "Fuck me, fuck me _now_ …oh God, _fuck_ …I want…I need…need you…fucking pleeease…" in a litany of pleas for Jethro to just get his cock inside him, like _right now_.

 

Afterwards, Tony would sprawl atop Gibbs with heavy limbs and satisfied moans, and Gibbs would push at him a bit and complain he was too heavy. It was a game they indulged in; Tony would refuse to budge and Gibbs would not-so-gently nip at Tony's mouth or earlobe, and spank his ass a couple of times with his impossibly hard hand. After a brief tussle Tony would give in. He'd roll off Gibbs and would pretend to leave, but Gibbs would pull him back with a growl, and then they'd relax and breathe as one until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

 

Tony liked being in Gibbs' bed but Gibbs didn't care where they fucked so long as they didn't get interrupted. One time they had sex in an alleyway behind the Chinese take-out place near Tony's apartment, and Tony got such bad abrasions from being shoved bare-assed against the rough brick wall, that when they got back to Gibbs', Gibbs had to apply antibiotic cream in the places Tony couldn’t reach. Tony later told Gibbs it was "the hottest, most fucked-up sex ever, and that's including that time I had those twin trapeze artists in Peoria…I told you about that, right?...and _man_ , they got into these twisty pretzel-like positions and did things with their toes...."

 

They fucked in various automobiles – front, back and hood – and did it in Gibbs' truck so often they kept a ton of supplies in the glove compartment. For some reason that Tony couldn't recall, they had sex in the woods one ass-freezing night, with the barest minimum of flesh exposed. It was frenzied and hot, and Gibbs had Tony moaning loudly and about to come – until some night creature started yowling. In two seconds flat, Tony had disconnected and was heading for the car with his pants at half-mast. Gibbs trailed behind, laughing so hard he could barely get his zipper up.

 

During a phenomenally boring banquet at the Adams House Hotel, Tony finger-fucked Gibbs in the well-appointed bathroom just off the lobby. They emerged smelling so strongly of the hotel's exclusive-scented hand lotion that when they returned to the table, Director Shepard sniffed the air suspiciously.

 

They humped like dogs (Gibbs' description) at 0200 in the lavatory of Gibbs' favorite diner after eating blueberry pie washed down with the best coffee in all of DC. The roar of the traffic passing on the thruway overhead made the toilet's cubicle vibrate, the noise covering Tony's shout when they both came at the same time.

 

They were about to begin some impromptu action in what had to be the skuzziest public toilet ever, in the basement of _Underworld_ on K Street, when Gibbs called it quits. They didn't even get their zippers down, and even though he was wearing latex gloves at the time, Tony quickly agreed, afraid of catching something bad from the Petri dish of germs lurking on the graffiti-covered surfaces. Gibbs called the health department as soon as they got into his car, and they went back to Tony's place and indulged in a bubble bath followed by a slow, sweet fuck in the comfort of Tony's own bed.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Somewhere along the way things between them changed. Tony had never been in doubt that he loved Gibbs, whom he now called _Jethro_ with a familiar ease, but it slowly became…more. He wasn't alone in sensing it, either. He could tell that Jethro's feelings had deepened, too, though they never actually spoke about it. But slowly, inevitably, casual sex turned into making love, and loyalty changed into devotion, and familiarity grew into a deeper understanding.

 

Over time Tony left a few of his things at Jethro's house: some DVDs and a spare set of toiletries, some clothing. He found he was using Jethro's toothpaste without realizing it, unwittingly wearing Jethro's socks. Tony wasn't alone in sharing his lover's things. Despite Jethro's insistence that he preferred Marine soap (the label assured the user it _removed grease, oil, algae and fish_ ) over any fancy-smelling shampoo, Jethro's hair would emit the scent of pineapple and sage. When Tony said Jethro's hair had a nice shine to it, Jethro colored up a little.

 

It wasn't until the past summer, not long after Kate died, that Tony officially moved into Gibbs' home. He wasn't outright invited and they had certainly never discussed living together, not in all the time they'd been together. He didn't _intend_ to move in; it just sort of…happened.

 

In the aftermath of Kate's tragic death, Tony had sought solace in Jethro's arms, and what was supposed to be a weekend stay stretched into a week together, and then two, and before Tony realized it, he'd been at Gibbs' for all of June. By that time, the right side of the bed had been officially designated as his, with an extra pillow and an alarm clock on the nightstand.

 

Jethro liked to sleep on the side closest to the bathroom because he often had to get up in the night to take a piss. That's what he said. Tony believed it was really because that side of the bed placed Jethro closest to the bedroom door and he was subconsciously acting as protector. The one time Tony mentioned his thoughts, Jethro (literally) growled, but Tony kissed him and whispered in his ear that it turned him on, having his very own guard dog, and that brought out a small, satisfied smile on Jethro's face.

 

Tony had been sleeping at Jethro's for going-on-five weeks when, in the middle of a conversation about whether or not they'd get the 4th of July off, Jethro had looked at Tony over breakfast, as if he was puzzling something out. Jethro had said, far too casually to be truly casual, "No point in you wasting money on that apartment."

 

Unsure that he was, indeed, being invited to move in, Tony had decided to test the water. "Maybe I should look for something cheaper."

 

"Crappier, you mean."

 

"I don't know…the market's good for renters in the summer." When that warranted him a dark look, Tony had gone out on a limb. "Two can live as cheaply as one, they say," which got Tony a grunt that meant he'd hit the bullseye.

 

"I've got the room," Jethro had said nonchalantly.

 

"You mean you'll rent me out the guest room?"

 

Jethro had cast a sour look his way and Tony had grinned at him. His sense of amusement hadn't lasted long though as the importance of the occasion sunk in. "You _will_ tell me if I overstay my welcome," Tony had said, all of a sudden unsure. How had he been sucked into what was looking more and more like a long-term relationship without ever having a say in the matter?

 

"You won't," Jethro had replied, looking so certain that Tony had been forced to believe him.

 

"Are you sure, like really _sure_ sure?"

 

"You saying you need more time? If you don't know by now…"

 

And that's when Tony had realized that he _did_ know, and he'd known all along, even if it scared the shit out of him. "I guess we'd better find somewhere to put all my shoes," he said, committing himself.

 

"I'll build some shelves," Jethro had replied, and he'd disappeared down the basement, and that was all there was to it.

 

And here they were, months later, still cohabiting. Tony joked, "No sign of bloodshed," leaving it hanging so Jethro could add, "Yet," before kissing Tony in a way that chased away the remnants of any doubts he might have had.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Now, in the bright light of day, Jethro looked a lot better than he had last night. It would take more than one night's sleep to recover fully, but they only had to get through one more day at the office and they'd have a nice long weekend off – guaranteed. Tony intended to spend every minute of their time off taking care of Jethro. He was planning it out in his mind: a nice dinner with some good wine, then upstairs where he'd give Jethro a deep massage followed by a long, sensuous make-out session and then, if Jethro was willing, Tony planned to fuck him senseless. Then they'd sleep in each other's arms to ward off the demons that came in the night under the guise of dreams.

 

He looked up to find Jethro watching him curiously and Tony realized he was smiling at his thoughts. Quickly wiping the smile off his face, Tony said, "I'll pick up the forensic report this morning and we can wrap up the paperwork. Abby said she'd have it by noon."

 

Jethro nodded, seeming a little concerned about the case.

 

Tony tried to ease his mind. "The case is airtight, Boss. Okay, I know there isn't really such a thing as an airtight case, any more than there's bulletproof glass. But we crossed all the Ts and dotted all the Is."

 

Jethro grunted, acknowledging that they had, indeed, conducted a thorough investigation, complete with solid evidence and forensics and a hard-won confession, all in a remarkably short amount of time. Still, it was not in Jethro's nature to celebrate, as Tony knew all too well. Jethro surprised him by saying, "You did good, Tony."

 

With a slight smile, Tony nodded. He accepted Jethro's words, enjoying the praise. He needed it and sucked it up, however sparse it might be. "Thanks, Boss."

 

Jethro squinted at Tony across the table. "Did you touch my alarm clock?"

 

Tony cringed inwardly. "Yeah, well, about that…see, I went to turn it off last night, and it sort of broke. Not a problem though, right? I mean, there's no point in getting up at 0600 when you told everyone to come in at ten."

 

"I _like_ getting up at 0600," Jethro said stubbornly. "No point in wasting good daylight hours. And you're gonna fix my damn clock."

 

"Okay, and I'm sorry, but I _like_ seeing you snoring into your pillow, knowing you're getting the rest you need," countered Tony. He didn't mind that Jethro was annoyed at him for letting him sleep late. It was part of his job to take care of Jethro's health and happiness, even if that meant getting told off for caring about him. "I mean, c'mon Jethro, it's not like we're farmers who have to get up before dawn to do whatever it is that farmers have to do at that time of the morning."

 

Jethro retorted, "No, we're federal officers who do whatever it takes to put dangerous criminals away, and if that means we have to pull some all-nighters, then that's what we're gonna do."

 

Tony looked Jethro straight in the eye. "Which we _did_. And we _do_ , on a regular basis, Boss. The whole team. We fight that war 24/7, while eating, sleeping and taking a crap, just like you expect us to. Just as we expect _ourselves_ to do."

 

Jethro nodded and fiddled with his coffee cup, lost in thought.

 

Tony carefully suggested, "How about we take the day off–"

 

"If you need a day off, _you_ stay at home," Jethro replied abruptly.

 

"I wasn't thinking of me, Jethro," Tony said evenly, although he felt like shouting at his lover that the damn case was over and he could take a break without it killing him. Jethro, who was hunched over his coffee, didn't respond. Tony sighed. No point in repeating himself. Jethro might not agree with what Tony was saying, but at least he now knew where he stood. "I'm going to go get ready for work," Tony said, pushing his empty bowl away, but as he rose to his feet, Jethro reached out and took hold of his arm just above the wrist.

 

Tony looked down at the hand holding him in place but he didn't fight it. "I need a shower and I have to see if I have any clean clothes. We haven't done any laundry for a couple of weeks," he said, wishing Jethro would let him go. When he didn't, Tony sighed without looking at him. "I don't want to quarrel."

 

"Me neither," Jethro said softly. Still hanging onto Tony's arm, he pled, "Look at me, Tony?"

 

Unable to refuse such a plea, Tony glanced at Jethro's face, and immediately saw he was sorry for being such an ass. "Look, Jethro, it's just that you push yourself really hard. And Ziva, and McGee especially, follow you, no matter where you lead them. But people, especially probies, make mistakes when they get tired and–"

 

"And you're watching out for them," Jethro concluded. "And me."

 

Tony nodded and reached out to stroke the side of Jethro's face. "Trying to. You don't make it easy."

 

Rising to his feet, Jethro released Tony's arm, but before Tony could move, Jethro slipped an arm around his waist and drew him close. Tony only resisted for a moment – as if he could ever refuse anything his man desired. Jethro leaned in, solid and warm and smelling like sleep and coffee, and he brushed his rough cheek against Tony's. Tony couldn't suppress a shudder of desire that blossomed within him. "Jethro, please," he whispered, wanting Jethro quite badly at that moment. It didn't matter that Jethro was wearing sleepwear that looked like it belonged in the rag bucket, and had morning breath, and had been as grumpy as hell as well as being pretty unfair to him. None of that could change the fact that everything about his lover, his friend, his boss, turned him on.

 

Jethro kissed Tony under his ear and said in a low voice, "I know what you do for me, Tony. I know I push hard sometimes, but I…I don't know any other way."

 

"I know…and I love that about you, but you need to learn how to…how to bend. Just a little?"

 

"I'm sorry," Jethro said softly, punctuation his apology with a kiss and a sigh against Tony's skin.

 

"What did you say?" Tony tried to get a look at Jethro's face, but the older man held him tightly and buried his face in the crook of Tony's neck.

 

"I said…I'm sorry, _babe_ ," said Jethro, his words muffled.

 

Tony let out a huff of laughter, but he had to apologize, too. "I was just teasing. I know you don't like being called babe."

 

Jethro leaned back, keeping a firm hold on Tony's hips. Arching his back, his groin pressed hard against Tony's and it was Jethro's turn to chuckle when it was obvious that they were both becoming aroused by the close contact. "I was just giving you a hard time."

 

"Sometimes I get all mushy and want to call you a pet name. I mean, we've been together for a while…"

 

"Two years," Jethro said without hesitation.

 

"What took us so long?"

 

"Hmmm. Old dogs?"

 

"That mean I'm your new trick?"

 

"It means slow and easy is the way to go. I jumped into my previous marriages, Tony, and had to fight my way out of the last three," Jethro said, shaking his head as if disappointed in himself.

 

"It took us two years before we hooked up, and another two for us to realize this just wasn't going away."

 

"It _isn't_?" Jethro's expression was one of extreme disappointment.

 

Tony punched Jethro lightly in the arm. "No, it is _not_. Better get used to it."

 

Jethro broke out in a smile. "Does this mean I'm stuck with you now?"

 

"Actually, I think you were stuck with me ever since the day Morrow sent us on that case down in Big Stone Gap, Virginia. Remember that assignment? Handcuffed and being chased by badass deputies?"

 

"Oh yeah, hard to forget," Jethro said, delivering a soft kiss to Tony's lips. "The anniversary's coming up on Sunday. And since you broke my alarm clock, guess that means we'll have to stay in bed all day and fuck."

 

Tony smiled, amazed that Jethro remembered the date. "Wow. You _are_ a romantic after all."

 

"Yeah, well, don't tell any of my exes. I never could remember any of our anniversaries."

 

"But you remember ours, so it must be important," Tony persisted, his whole body warming up at the thought of exactly what that meant.

 

"Y _ou're_ important," Jethro confirmed, kissing Tony to punctuate his words. He angled his head, his mouth hungry and intent, and when Tony responded by making a hungry sound he deepened the kiss. Tony grasped Jethro's short hair, dragging a moan out of him.

 

When their lips parted, Tony was breathing a little fast. "We have time, don't we?"

 

Jethro, who was busy kissing his way down Tony's neck and across his unshaven jaw, mumbled, "Time?"

 

"Upstairs…for a quickie, honey," Tony said, pulling Jethro towards the stairs.

 

"Honey?" Jethro had a dangerous look in his eye that both scared and thrilled Tony.

 

"Okay, how about sweetie? Or lovey? Or does that sound too Thurston Howell III? _'These savages are civilized, Lovey!_ ' No?" From the look on Jethro's face, Tony surmised that he could draw a heavy black line through all of those pet names. "Dearie?" he asked tentatively.

 

"What are we, old folks who've been married for fifty years?" Jethro pushed Tony against the banisters halfway up the stairs and rubbed his hips against Tony's groin while groping at his ass.

 

Tony groaned. "God, that feels…oh God!" He swallowed hard when Jethro bit his shoulder, and hoped he didn't come in his pants. "One day we will be. Be old. It's one of my…goals. Front porch and rocking chairs, side by side."

 

"I'd be over a hundred in fifty years," Jethro pointed out as he dragged Tony up a few stairs to the landing.

 

They grappled for a bit in the hallway but Tony managed to maneuver them into the bedroom, saying, "And I'm looking forward to spending every one of those years by your side, stud muffin. Or should it be sweet cheeks?"

 

Jethro threatened with a snarl, "You ever call me either of those names and it'll be grounds for divorce."

 

But Tony wasn't about to stop, not yet. Teasing Jethro was way too much fun. "Hmmm. Big guy, foxy, hot stuff? Besides, we can't get divorced if we're not married."

 

Jethro kissed Tony while fondling his balls through his flannel pajamas, and then said, "No, no, no and no way," before he went back to kissing him. When Jethro had finished kissing Tony stupid, and they were both breathing heavily and grinning at each other, he asked, "How long we got?"

 

"We have plenty of time, old man," Tony gasped, not caring what the hell time it was.

 

Jethro grabbed Tony around the waist and tossed him on the bed, growling, "I'll show _you_ 'old man,' Spanky."

 

In a last ditch effort, Tony asked, "How about _amore mio_?" He never got an answer because Jethro had already stripped out of his pajamas and was making quick work of Tony's, and their two naked bodies were thrusting against each other. Then Jethro demanded, "On your knees now," and Tony scrambled to obey while groaning, "Just fuck me and…oh _Jesus_!"

 

When they were finished and laying side by side on the rumpled bed, chests heaving, Jethro rolled his head so he could look straight into Tony's eyes. "Not yet," he said, his voice breathless and rough, as though it had all, somehow, been too much for him.

 

Tony blinked and asked, "Not yet what?" He smiled because there was nothing so sweet as seeing Jethro relaxed and beautiful, with that _I've fucked Tony_ grin plastered on his face. He still had a hungry look in his eyes, as if he could never get enough.

 

"Not married yet," Jethro replied, reaching out to hold Tony's lax hand in his own. His smile grew even larger and he said, "Remember that hotel…?"

 

This time Tony knew exactly what Jethro was talking about. "Oh yeah. By the freight yard. We told the desk clerk, that little old lady…Millie?...we were on our honeymoon. She didn't believe us until I called you 'babe' and you slapped my ass." He laughed softly at the memory and curled up against Jethro's side, one arm draped across his middle.

 

"It wasn't exactly the kind of honeymoon I'd want, not in Backwater, USA."

 

"After what we'd just been through, I was just glad to have somewhere to rest for a few hours," said Tony, thinking about how they barely made it back alive from that assignment. "You were hurt and I…I was so fucking scared of losing you when we'd just…just found each other." It sounded sappy but it was true.

 

Jethro wrapped his arms around Tony and drew him close. "Got a bit dicey there for a while," he agreed.

 

Tony hugged Jethro, both needing Jethro's arms around him and, at the same time feeling protective. "We took care of each other. We always work well together as a team but that was the first time we really had to rely on each other like that."

 

Jethro kissed Tony lovingly, taking his time. "I'm glad it was you."

 

Tony smiled, feeling warm all over. "Imagine if it had been McGee in Stone Gap with you. And you were cuffed together? He'd have freaked out."  


Jethro chuckled. "If it had been Ziva, she'd have chopped off my arm to get herself free."

 

Turning serious, Tony said, "I'm glad it was me chained to you, too. Better than…anyone else." He couldn't bring himself to mention Jeffrey, not by name, and from the look in Jethro's eyes, he felt the same. "Better than anyone else."

 

They kissed for a few minutes, their gentle caresses a reminder of how much they treasured each other and their relationship. With a groan, Jethro took Tony's hand and hauled him to his feet. "C'mon, lover boy, gotta get ready for work."

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 


	4. A Handy Tool Kit

**CHAPTER 4 - A Handy Tool Kit**

**NCIS: Deception, 3x13**   
Tony: Nice job with the lock by the way.   
Ziva: Thank you, it was a very simple pin-and-tumbler design.   
Tony: So are handcuffs. But I bet you couldn't get out of a pair.   
Ziva: Are you saying, you'd like to handcuff me, Tony?   
Tony: It's not really my thing, Ziva.   
Ziva: I see. You're the one who likes to be handcuffed, then, huh? 

~ • ~

 

They arrived a few minutes late to work that morning. Apart from Ziva pointing out that she had already picked up the forensic report from Abby, neither she nor McGee, who was busy working on his computer, said a word about their tardiness.

 

Ziva handed Gibbs a file and looked Tony up and down as she passed by while returning to her desk. "You look like something the rat has dragged in," she said with a sniff.

 

"Cat, Liaison Officer David. Not rat." Tony sat at his desk with a flourish and said, "Looks like everyone got caught up on their beauty sleep and–" His phone rang mid-sentence. Tony met Gibbs' eyes across the bullpen. "Bossss," he whined. He'd hope they wouldn't land a case today, or else they'd have to work into the weekend.

 

"Pick it up," Gibbs ordered.

 

Tony did so and a minute later he announced, "Bodies. Two of them. Georgetown."

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

Carrying a large travel mug of steaming coffee, Tony entered the bedroom of the Georgetown hotel, carefully avoiding the large pool of blood surrounding the body of a naked gray-haired man. The victim – Senior Chief Petty Officer Rowlands, according to Ziva after finding the man's uniform and ID in the otherwise empty closet – had one hand cuffed to an old-fashioned cast iron radiator. Lying next to him, just as dead, was a woman in her early twenties with long blond hair. Like the male, she was naked and bloody. Both victims had a single bullet hole to the head. There was no weapon in sight.

 

"Amore interruptus," Tony said as he handed the coffee off to Gibbs and waited to see if the coffee met with Gibbs' approval. "It's a French roast from Thailand, Boss." He whispered, "I brought it from home in your favorite mug."

 

Tony loved watching Gibbs drink. He literally got off on the way Gibbs' head tipped back and his throat moved as he swallowed, the way his eyelids closed to half-mast as he savored the dark, rich brew. It wasn't the warm, dark aroma of the coffee that aroused Tony so much as seeing Gibbs' mouth wrapped around the lip of the silver and navy blue "I love Marines" travel cup. It was also because, just that morning, Gibbs had wrapped those very lips around Tony's leaking dick and sucked and licked and _moaned_ as if it was the fucking best thing he'd ever had in his mouth. And now, despite standing only three feet away from a couple of corpses lying in congealing body fluids, all Tony could think about was how he'd shuddered and grasped at Gibbs' hair, shouting obscenities as he'd come down Gibbs' throat.

 

Just as Tony swallowed at the memories flooding his brain, Gibbs said, without even looking at him, "Better keep your jacket on, DiNozzo."

 

"What?" Tony asked. In reply, Gibbs let his eyes rest on Tony's groin, where Tony's arousal was making itself obvious. His face red, Tony quickly zipped up his jacket and tugged it down. "Sorry, Boss." He glanced around, relieved that Ziva and McGee were too busy processing the scene to pay any attention to him.

 

Gibbs smirked. "Something getting you excited, DiNozzo?"

 

"Me? No! Well…not the crime scene," Tony replied, unable to stop a grin. "Only there was coffee, and you were drinking it, and…and there are handcuffs involved. It reminded me of…of something not appropriate to bring up under these circumstances."

 

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, apparently finding Tony's discomfiture amusing, or perhaps it was the memory of that morning in bed. He suppressed the beginnings of a smile though and barked, "Let's get the IDs confirmed, people."

 

McGee approached the victims and carefully leaned over with a small device. He scanned the victims' prints and reported, "Boss, confirmation that this is Senior Chief Petty Officer Rowlands." A minute later he added, "The woman is his wife, Jeannie Rowlands. He is age 56. Mrs. Rowlands is 26. Married two months ago and…they're residents of Falls Church."

 

Ziva moved closer to the bodies, dusting the radiator and then the handcuffs for fingerprints. She commented with obvious disdain, "These handcuffs have a simple pin-and-tumbler design. I do not understand why they did not simply pick the locks and eradicate themselves."

 

" _Extricate_ ," Tony corrected. "Maybe they didn't have a handy tool kit with decoder rings on their naked bodies."

 

Ziva said, "They could have used one of the bobby pins she has in her hair. In Mossad, we would never allow ourselves to be caught–"

 

"With your pants down?" Tony interjected. Ziva glared at him and Tony grinned back at her. He loved poking at the ant hill. "I'll just bet you were trained to chew off your paw if you were caught, like a wild animal in a trap." Tony made little animal noises, lifting his hands up close to his chest, mimicking a squirrel, until Gibbs slapped the back of his head.

 

"Get to work before you lose more than a paw, DiNozzo."

 

"Yes, Boss." He couldn't help but smile at Ziva's look of glee.

 

"Or maybe they were killed before they were cuffed," said McGee, looking at the bed with its messed-up sheets.

 

Tony shook his head. "Bruising on their wrists says otherwise, McJump-to-conclusions. Besides, the sheets are rumpled from sex, not from a life-and-death struggle. And there's blood splatter on the radiator and wall behind it." He took photos of the area around the bodies, as usual concentrating on the details and not on the victims.

 

Ducky arrived with Palmer, and Gibbs' team moved out of their way, with the exception of Tony, who continued taking photographs as the ME inspected the bodies.

 

"Ah," said Ducky, "This reminds me of the time one of my associates thought that it would be romantic to handcuff his sweetheart to the steering wheel of his automobile, so that she would be compelled to go on a joyride with him. Unfortunately, they were parked on a seaside cliff and one of them leaned a little too vigorously on the handbrake, causing it to release and–"

 

"Time of death, Dr. Mallard?" interrupted Gibbs.

 

"You know that I am not about to confirm the TOD until I have completed the autopsies, Special Agent Gibbs. However, I will estimate these unfortunate lovebirds met their Maker around midnight last night." He lifted their joined hands and asked, "Anthony, would you do us the honors and remove these shackles?"

 

"You must be mistaking me for some kind of expert on handcuffs, Ducky." Tony patted his pockets. "Anyone find the key?"

 

Ziva whipped out her own small lock-picking kit and rolled her eyes. "Apparently, Tony's expertise with handcuffs only includes those that are pink and fuzzy."

 

"Even pink and fuzzies tend to chafe your wrists," Tony said, absent-mindedly rubbing his wrists. Everyone in the room turned to look at him and Tony quickly said, "Hey, remember in _Mad Max_? When Max pointed out that it would take the bad guy ten minutes to hack through the steel cuffs but only five to hack through his own ankle before the bomb went off?"

 

Palmer looked up with a grin. "I love _Mad Max_! Those post-apoc leather outfits, steampunk gear, biker boots!"

 

"Leather masks with metal studs," Tony said with a nod. "And _Beyond Thunderdome_ , Tina's metal mesh mini…?"

 

Gibbs put a stop to the chatter with a glare, and ordered for his people to finish processing the scene so they could get on with interviewing the hotel employees and any other potential witnesses.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

"I _told_ you the wife did it," Ziva said, looking pleased with herself. "Is that not a rule or something?"

 

"Ex-wife," corrected McGee. "But yes, according to Tony it is. It is Tony's rule #3."

 

"Statistics prove me right," Tony said smugly.

 

Ziva replied, "Well, now they are both ex-wives, are they not? One by divorce, and the younger, prettier one by death. The first Mrs. Rowlands said she did it out of jealousy."

 

"Yeah, well look where that got the ex-Mrs. Rowlands: locked up and unlikely to get out anytime soon," Tony pointed out. It hadn't been difficult to locate her. The ex, Julia Fisher, had been almost eager to spill her guts. She had confessed to forcing her ex-husband and his new (and too-young-for-him) wife to handcuff themselves to the radiator and then, after verbally tormenting them for a while, shot them.

 

_"I should have shot her first just to watch him squirm," Julia Fisher had said unrepentantly._

 

"No remorse from that lady," Tony said.

 

"Why did they not fight back?" asked Ziva.

 

McGee shrugged but said, "Maybe they thought Ms. Fisher was planning on leaving them handcuffed to the radiator until a hotel employee discovered them. It would have been pretty humiliating, but better than getting killed."

 

"I'll take humiliation over death any day," Tony muttered without thinking. He looked at his watch. Ducky had been delayed in completing the autopsy paperwork and they had to wait for it before they could go home. More accurately, Gibbs had to wait, and so did he. "Maybe McGee and Ziva could head on out, Boss?"

 

"As soon as their reports are on my desk," Gibbs said, never taking his eyes off his computer.

 

"I am sure you are used to being embarrassed, Tony, so it would not be much of a sacrifice," Ziva said with a smile as she printed out her report and placed it neatly on Gibbs' desk. "Or perhaps it is the part about being handcuffed naked that bothers you."

 

Tony gave her a tight smile. "While it is true that I've been handcuffed a time or two, Ziva, most of those experiences have culminated in great pleasure–"

 

McGee raised his hands in a time-out formation. "Okay, okay! TMI, Tony!"

 

Ziva looked Tony up and down. "So, for you, being cuffed is always pleasurable?"

 

Tony raised a hand. "Oh no. Once I was cuffed to a suspect for an extended period of time, and believe me, it was far from pleasant. I _was_ on a case, though. Sacrifices were made."

 

That got Ziva's interest. "Tell us more, Tony."

 

"I don't think so, Ziva. It isn't the kind of thing a guy likes to share." Tony wasn't being coy. He didn't like being reminded of Jeffrey White, and rarely mentioned him. He knew Gibbs had an issue with the way the whole thing had gone down, the way he'd lost track of Tony, and how very close Tony had come to getting his throat cut.

 

"And this is where the humiliation comes in?" Ziva asked.

 

Gibbs said clearly, so the whole team could hear, "Being cuffed to a dangerous killer while deep undercover, and bringing the man to justice even though we'd lost all communication? That's something to be proud of, DiNozzo."

 

"Why thank you, Boss," said Tony, a little taken aback at Gibbs' public praise. "Except I didn't know he was a crazy-assed killer until a lot later. Well, I did get a hint when he tried to cut my throat with a carving knife."

 

Gibbs dipped his head but apparently he wasn't finished. "Maybe you should tell them about the other time…"

 

Abby joined them, dropping off the printed version of her report on Gibbs' desk. "Special delivery! What are you all talking about?"

 

"Handcuffs," Ziva said.

 

"Crazy-assed killers," said Tony.

 

Palmer said, "Apocalyptic-punk leather gear!" A dark look from Gibbs sent him hurrying back to autopsy. "Gotta go!"

 

McGee handed Gibbs his final report. "You want me to wait for you to review them, Boss, to file everything electronically for you?

 

Gibbs said, "DiNozzo will do it. You two can go."

 

"What crazy-assed killer? Oh, _Jeffrey_ ," said Abby, nodding in understanding. "That was fun!"

 

"Uh, maybe it was fun from back here in the safety of your lab," Tony retorted. To Ziva, he said, "They wanted to fit me with a subcutaneous tracking device."

 

"Like a dog," Ziva said, nodding.

 

Abby said happily, "A LoJack, a TonyJack."

 

Gibbs kept his gaze on Tony. "I'm talking about the _other_ time, DiNozzo. Earlier."

 

Unsure what Gibbs was up to, and seeing what looked like a wicked gleam in his blue eyes, Tony quickly said, "No, no. They don't want to hear about that."

 

But both Tim and Ziva looked at Tony with interested eyes. Ziva asked, "No? We do not?"

 

"Yes! I do! I do!" Abby exclaimed.

 

Tony said, "Abby, you were part of it. You know what happened."

 

"Not the gory details," she said, eyes wide.

 

"No," Tony said firmly. "How about I just finish up here, and meanwhile you probies can scoot? We can all have a nice long weekend off. Right, Boss?"

 

But Gibbs was looking steadily at Tony, a slight lift of the corner of his mouth. Tony sent him a questioning look. Gibbs raised his eyebrows and pretty much threw a challenge right back at Tony.

 

"You _sure_ you want me to tell them, Boss? About…"

 

Ziva was looking from Tony to Gibbs and back again as she tried to decipher what was going on. Abby's eyes were wide with excitement and Tim's expression indicated he expected the worst.

 

"Is this going to make my brain bleed?" asked Tim.

 

Gibbs warned Tony with a steady, meaningful gaze. Tony knew that look. It said, _Keep it simple and don't embarrass either of us._

"You sure, Boss?"

 

Gibbs nodded. "Sure."

 

"Okaaay." Tony perched on the corner of his desk and surveyed his rapt audience. He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. "This was after Viv, about two years ago. Before Kate came along," he said, glad that he was able to say her name without hesitation. "Gibbs and I were working together as two-man team, and we were doing a great job, high closure rate and everything. Right, Boss?"

 

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his lips. "Just me and my probie."

 

"Tony…a probie," McGee said, amused.

 

"Hey, c'mon Boss, I'd been a field agent for a couple of years by that point," Tony said, even though he knew Gibbs was just yanking his chain. "I busted my chops carrying all that gear, and I tell you, when it's only yourself and you lugging all those bags around, they get mighty heavy in a hurry. But I did so with a smile, and you know why, my p-p-p-probies? Because I was _Gibbs'_ probie, and it was an _honor_ to serve under him."

 

Gibbs made a noise that sounded like he had a piece of food caught in his throat.

 

McGee asked, concerned, "You okay there, Boss?"

 

Tony turned to check out Gibbs and, just for a second, caught one of those rare but bright Gibbs-smiles, the kind that made his eyes twinkle. Gibbs was quick to cover it up, scowling and making a gesture for Tony to continue.

 

It was difficult not to smile back, and Tony had to force himself to look away in order to concentrate on the story at hand. He cleared his throat. "Director Morrow was on Gibbs' case to choose another two agents for the team because the policy for the MCRT was to have four agents at a scene. We all know how picky…I mean how _careful_ the boss is, making sure whoever joins our little family is going to be a good fit."

 

There were sage nods all round. Gibbs snorted.

 

Tony continued, getting into his role as storyteller, "Summer goes by and fall comes around and we're still a two-man team – which was fine by us. Not wanting to waste good, Morrow gave us a short-term undercover assignment. Our job was to re-acquire a flash drive containing a top-secret nuclear submarine defense weapon system plans that some dumbass by the name of Lance Corporal Abel Manhattan had stolen and was selling to the highest bidder."

 

Gibbs pitched in, "We got the word he was meeting any potential buyers in a hotel in some small town just off the Interstate in Virginia. Our people had already re-acquired the original disk Manhattan had stolen so there was only this one copy to get hold of."

 

Ziva eyed Tony skeptically, "You went in as a buyer?"

 

"Sure did," Tony said with a big smile. "Both of us."

 

McGee asked, "Why not surround the place and take him by force?"

 

Ziva just about applauded that suggestion, but Gibbs said with a shrug, "The SecNav wanted it kept quiet. Our orders were to go in and get hold of the flash drive, by any means necessary, and to bring it directly to him. The plan was that Team B would follow us in and take Petty Officer Manhattan into custody, along with the customers who were trying to buy national defense secrets." He cast a dark look at Tony and said accusingly, "Not that any of this went according to plan."

 

Tony ignored the glare and said proudly, "Abby constructed these really good covers for us, with backgrounds and references and IDs that would stand up to scrutiny. Gibbs posed as a disgruntled former Marine who was now a mercenary with a fat wallet. I was a flashy jamoke from Brooklyn, a freelancer with mob connections. You shoulda seen me doing my best Tony Manero. Well, Tony Manero without the white suit. Or the dancing. Or the BeeGees."

 

"DiNozzo…" warned Gibbs.

 

"Right, Boss. Our backup was delayed and they still hadn't arrived by the time the bidding started. There were only two other bidders there and we decided we could take them down and recover the stolen flash drive on our own. Only, just as we're about to get down to brass tacks, this latecomer walks in. I recognized him right away: Mickey Pannatero, from a syndicate in Jersey. He was a known weapons dealer, but there's a huge difference between automatic rifles and weapon-systems schematics. I figured he was acting as a middleman for a client. Anyway, Pannatero brought his wife along and boy, she was a looker and…um…" Tony rubbed the back of his head, stalling.

 

Ziva leaned towards Abby and whispered loudly, "What is this…this flashy joke Tony is talking about?"

 

"Jamoke," Abby explained. "Like a sidekick. Or a cup of coffee, if you want to go into the etymology, because the origin is thought to be nautical, a combination of java and mocha, which means that, in a way, it's Gibbs who should be called a jamoke." Turning to Gibbs, she quickly added, "Not that I'd ever call you a jamoke, Gibbs."

 

"Better not," Gibbs replied with a stern look. Abby just giggled.

 

Tony protested, "Well, I certainly don't fit the profile of a sidekick, but Timmy here, he makes a fine McSidekick…"

 

McGee rolled his eyes and talked right over Tony. "You were saying: Pannatero's wife…?"

 

With a blank expression, Tony asked, "I was?"

 

"Just tell 'em, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered.

 

Tony said sheepishly, "I can't help it if Pannatero's wife found me attractive, Boss."

 

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "And you couldn't help it if a brawl broke out, either?"

 

Tony smirked and pointed an accusing finger at his boss. "Hey, it wasn't _me_ who threw the first punch, Matt Dillon. Only _you_ would choose the name of a well-known marshal from a TV western for an alias." He could see that Ziva didn't have a clue who Marshal Matt Dillon was so he said, "I think it's about time we had a TV western marathon at your place, Boss."

 

Gibbs seemed to be having a hard time suppressing a smile. "I took Pannatero down because he was getting in your space…Tony _Rosato_."

 

Ziva looked confused. "I thought you said you were this Tony Manero?"

 

Abby chimed in, "No, Manero was _Saturday Night Fever_. Rosato was in _The Godfather II_."

 

Ziva scowled at Abby and then Tony. "You are pulling my legs."

 

"Leg. And I'm not pulling it," said Tony. "This is all true. If Gibbs had his way, my ID would've said I was Festus or some other _Gunsmoke_ character," Tony said with an exaggerated shudder. "But we settled on the name Tony Rosato for my alias."

 

"You could have been Miss Kitty," Abby mused.

 

"Oh no! You were so _not_ naming me Miss Kitty," Tony said vehemently.

 

"But I love kitty cats," Abby replied.

 

"Doesn't everyone?" McGee asked, though a second later he frowned at Tony. "Okay, wait a minute…You said that Gibbs threw the first punch?"

 

"He did, protecting my honor," Tony said with a grin, placing his hand over his heart.  


"More like I was protecting the flash thumb drive thingy, and national security," Gibbs retorted.

 

Ziva huffed, "So, Tony, you risked the entire operation because you couldn't keep it in your pocket?"

 

"It's keep it in your _pants_ , Ziva," McGee corrected. "Though I'm not going to vouch for Tony, either way."

 

"Not to worry, no clothing was removed, even if Mrs. Pannatero was a very attractive woman," Tony assured them. "Gibbs provided the necessary distraction and I pocketed the drive and we were out of there before anyone knew what hit them."

 

McGee looked from Gibbs to Tony and asked, "And Lance Corporal Manhattan?"

 

Tony hesitated and it was Gibbs who said, "There was some confusion and we weren't able to take him into custody at that point. But we later heard that Team B rounded up most of the players soon after we left."

 

McGee and Ziva exchanged glances, and Ziva asked with narrowed eyes, "So… _what_ does any of this have to do with handcuffs?"

 

"Ah," said Gibbs. " _That_ is a whole other story."

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**


	5. Chained

**CHAPTER 5 - Chained**

**NCIS: Truth or Consequences, 7x01  
** Tony: I'm the wildcard. I'm the guy who looks at the reality in front of him and refuses to accept it. Like right now I should be terrified, right, but I'm not. Because I just can't stop thinking about the movie _[True Lies](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/True_Lies)._ You know, where [Arnie](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arnold_Schwarzenegger)'s strapped to the chair and shot full of truth serum. He picks his cuffs and kills everybody.

 

~ • ~

 

**_Two years earlier, November, 2003_ **

 

There was a stinging slap to his face. Then another one. Gibbs mumbled for them to stop it and tried to lift his hand but it seemed to be stuck. Tied down. Some guy was talking to him… _Tony_ …his voice low and urgent. It took a few moments and a few more slaps – which _hurt_ – before Gibbs could open his eyes. "'Nough."

 

"Gibbs? You with me?"

 

"Uh. Wha…?" The light hurt his eyes and he had to blink a few times before he could focus. The vague, out-of-focus blob in front of his face eventually became DiNozzo. A worried-looking DiNozzo, with one hand held in midair as if ready to slap his cheek again. Gibbs squinted at him and growled, "You do that again and I'll rip your arm off."

 

Tony seemed relieved. "Thank God you're back, and you're _you_! Look, Boss, we've got to get the hell out of here before they come back."

 

 _Here_ turned out to be the back of a police cruiser, a large sedan equipped with the requisite protective cage barrier between the front and back seats. Gibbs was slouched in the back, alongside Tony, and right now the front seat was empty.

 

Tony did a quick visual sweep of the parking lot before turning to Gibbs to ask, "Think you can sit up a bit, Boss?"

 

Tony was smiling at him in a way that did nothing to quell his growing unease. Something bad was going down. Gibbs wasn't sure he was in any shape to handle whatever it was, but Tony was looking at him expectantly, so he mumbled, "Yeah."

 

He sat up a bit and almost puked. Everything fucking hurt: his stomach, his chest, his eyeballs. Jesus, what had he done to deserve this? A few shallow breaths with his eyes closed and the nausea passed. Mostly. When Gibbs went to raise his hands to his aching head, there was a sharp pull on his wrist. A steel handcuff was biting into his right wrist, its long chain looped over a heavy prisoner-transfer bar in front of him. Even worse, the cuff at the other end of the six-inch-long chain was securely fastened around Tony's left wrist. _Shit_. "What the hell's goin' on?"

 

Tony said lightly, "The deputies gave us these pretty steel bracelets and invited us to accompany them to the county lockup. We just pulled in here – a pit stop ­for take-out – and then…you woke up."

 

They were parked out front of a large eatery named The Triangle Diner, a popular place if the packed parking lot was anything to go by. Must have been fifty cars. It was apparently dinnertime, and the car they were sitting in was uncomfortably warm in the late-day sun. Two men wearing the uniform of the Virginia Sheriff's Department were standing about twenty feet from the car where Tony and Gibbs were chained. The deputies were quarreling, one gesturing back towards their vehicle.

 

Gibbs kept his eye on the two men; one was considerably larger than the other, both men in their fifties. The window was down a couple of inches and he could hear snatches of the deputies' conversation.

 

The smaller man was saying, "…don't need this kind of trouble, Earl. I've just paid off…mortgage and …retire in two months. You know I don't do this kind of–"

 

The bigger of the two deputies ground out, "How else're you gonna pay for your kids' college, Fred? We do this job for them…walk away…nobody will know…" A heavy truck went by, drowning out whatever was being said, and then Gibbs heard, "… got a problem? You take it up with Sheriff Boyd."

 

Tony gave Gibbs a gentle nudge. "They're not gonna be in the diner for very long. We need a plan of action."

 

Gibbs turned to Tony and, for the first time, took in that the young agent had been hurt. Tony's left eye was swollen and there was a cut over his eyebrow. Blood had run down his face and had dried on his leather jacket. There was a bloodstain on the collar of his white shirt underneath and all Gibbs could think about was that Tony was going to kick up a hell of a fuss, and gripe about how hard the stains would be to get out. Stupidly, he tried to reach out, needing to touch Tony, but he was brought up short by the handcuff chain and gasped when the unforgiving steel cuff bit into his skin.

 

"Gibbs," Tony said urgently, as if he'd already called his name out a couple of times.

 

"What?" Gibbs couldn't help staring at Tony's jaw, which had been scraped and was dark with a large bruise. His voice tight with anger, he demanded, "How badly are you hurt?"

 

"Me?" Tony raised his free hand and said calmly, "I'm fine. Really. Apart from a couple of loose teeth, they didn't inflict too much damage. Look, if there's any way we can get unhitched, I'm ready and able to put some distance between us and those Deputy Dawgs. You think you can run?"

 

"Yeah, sure…" Gibbs ran a hand over his jaw and it was like someone flipped a switch; the pain hit him hard, from his eye to his jaw, like someone had whacked him with a two-by-four. Assessing the damage, Gibbs found his ribs ached and his stomach was sore, as if he'd been someone's punching bag. It didn't take much brainwork to figure out it was one of those deputies. Gibbs sighed. This was one hell of a mess but he didn't think any of his injuries were bad enough to slow him down. No broken bones, anyway. He ran a hand over his chest and flinched at the raw pain. Pulling his shirt open, he saw two angry looking burns on his skin, over his heart. Shit, no wonder…

 

Before Gibbs could say anything, Tony said, his eyes dark with anger, "Taser. They zapped you good, for a lot longer than the legal limit, and while you were down they roughed you up. The big deputy, Roper, kicked you in the head."

 

Gingerly touching his skull, Gibbs soon located a lump above his left ear. His fingers came away sticky with congealed blood. His head was killing him and the light was sending dagger-like shafts of pain straight through his eyeballs. Dizzy, still feeling like he needed to puke…probably had a concussion. He caught Tony looking at him with what was most likely a warranted concern. Gibbs swallowed and tried to act like he was fine. "Don't you worry about me."

 

"I could have killed him," Tony said, his voice raw and unapologetic.

 

"Yeah, I get that." Gibbs nodded, letting Tony know that he appreciated the sentiment. He understood that although a good portion of Tony's anger was directed at the deputies for assaulting him, he was also upset that he hadn't been able to do more. It was coming back to him, piecemeal, being pushed hard against a wall with legs back and spread. He'd tried to reason with the cops but when they'd punched Tony in the lower back and he had sunk to his knees with a strangled cry, Gibbs had erupted with blind anger, fighting his way to Tony with every last ounce of his strength. He got in a few good hits before one of them, the larger deputy, pulled out the damned taser and used it on him. He was writhing on the ground in agony when Tony broke free and lurched towards the deputy. After that…he didn't remember much.

 

"…and they wouldn't stop, Gibbs. I tried…"

 

"Hey. You listening to me? I know you did. It's okay. We're alive." It took a moment, but Tony nodded reluctantly. Gibbs kept an eye on the deputies through the windshield. They had made it to the door of the diner, and were talking to a group of people coming out. "How 'bout you give me a sit rep?"

 

Tony swallowed and collected himself. "Where do you want me to start?"

 

"From…the meeting. The lance corporal," Gibbs prompted, not quite recalling what had gone down.

 

Tony smoothly transitioned into work mode. "After you punched Pannatero…and I have to tell you, Boss, that was an impressive right hook…"

 

"Di _Noz_ zo."

 

"I know: focus. Okay. You distracted the buyers. I grabbed the USB flash drive from Lance Corporal Manhattan and we made it out to the car. Someone – probably Pannatero – took some parting pot shots at us. They hit something, an oil line maybe; the engine was smoking like it was going to blow any minute but we kept driving." Tony eyed Gibbs and asked, "You remember any of this?"

 

Gibbs rubbed his temple, and even though he had a feeling he was missing some of the details, he said, "Yeah. Yeah, we made it to…uh…"

 

"Lafayetteville," Tony supplied. "We abandoned our car and were trying to scrounge up another vehicle at a service station when these two deputies pulled up and started hassling us."

 

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Seems a little too coincidental."

 

"Oh yeah," Tony agreed. "They knew who we were, or who we were _supposed_ to be, so I'm pretty sure someone sent them to grab us. They were scared of us…well, of _you_ , Boss, and they did everything but shoot you. Of course they _did_ think you were a dangerous weapons dealer. It was some serious overkill but you put up a hell of a fight," Tony said, his pride evident.

 

Gibbs remembered the intense, paralyzing pain of the taser, and Tony screaming at the deputy to stop while he tried desperately to get to him. Even with his hands cuffed behind his back, Tony had fought the deputy with everything he had. "And you jumped right in there, didn't you, DiNozzo?"

 

"You know me, always a scrapper," Tony said, his tone light even though his eyes shone with pain, remembering the scene. After a moment, Tony nodded in the direction of the diner. "Those two, Deputies Roper – he's the big one – and Deputy Tatum? They're taking us to the county jail over in Bedford. It's a couple of hours from here. Gonna book us, throw away the key, I'll bet. Just like in _Cool Hand Luke_. 1967. Newman, of course. 'Any man playing grab-ass or fighting in the building spends a night in the box.' You think we're gonna spend a night in the box, Boss? I don't think I'd do so well in such a small, cramped space." Tony cocked his head slightly as if remembering something. "Funny, 'cause I spent a lot of time hiding in small spaces when I was a kid; closets, bathtubs, even under the kitchen sink once, though that didn't end up well because Dad's driver came in and started making out with my step-mom and I musta made a noise because next thing you know, she was pulling me out by my ear and–"

 

Able to follow only a fraction of whatever Tony was going on about, Gibbs stopped the verbal run-on with a sharp, "DiNozzo, _focus_."

 

That stopped Tony in his tracks, though he blinked a couple of times before saying, "Sorry, Boss, it's just that the thought of ending up in the Big House is making me sorta nervous. You ever see _Chained Heat_? It was around '83. Linda Blair as the innocent chick who gets tossed in a prison that's a veritable cesspool of corruption and sleaze. Sexploitation and blaxploitation all wrapped up in one."

 

"And you think I'd have seen this…why?"

 

"You're right. My mistake."

 

"Let's hope they give us metal spoons," Gibbs said wryly.

 

That made Tony grin. "Yeah, we can grind them down into jailhouse shivs! Never be without a knife. Got it, Boss."

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

Right from the first moment he'd met Tony, back in Baltimore, Gibbs had been both amused and irritated by the young man. Okay, so it had been mostly irritation although exactly _why_ Detective DiNozzo's proximity made him all growly, and with a very strong compulsion to whack the kid upside the head, he didn't know.

 

Eventually Gibbs figured out _why_ , but there was no way he would ever act on his irrational and, at times, all-consuming need to touch Tony. At least he would never touch Tony _that_ way. Gibbs was good at keeping things to himself, all tied up in knots, or 'inscrutable inside impenetrable,' as wife #2 had put it.

 

He thought it would go away. He was wrong. Even now, after two years, Gibbs still found himself torn between the desire to slap Tony's head and clasp the back of his neck in affection.

 

It hadn't taken Gibbs long to see past the big smiles and light-hearted banter, and all the other devices Tony was so adept at using to camouflage whatever was going on inside that brain of his. Gibbs could see the brave, loyal and smart young man that Tony was hiding behind a well-tailored false front. What he _couldn't_ see was the reason behind Tony's behavior, his obsessive need to hide his real self. Still, he was confident that he'd eventually figure Tony out. It was a bit like sanding his boat, slowly and oh-so patiently bringing out the beauty of the wood with long, sure strokes.

 

Gibbs had always thought Tony was attractive – hell, everybody did, unless they were blind. Tony knew how to use his smile to get what he wanted, and so Gibbs had never had any qualms about using his second-in-command's flirting and personal skills to further an investigation. If Gibbs thought about Tony's sexuality as how it related to himself, it was in a 'You're not going there so don't even _think_ about him like that' kind of way. It was a non-issue as far as Gibbs was concerned. He wasn't into men. Tony was an employee and a subordinate. End of story.

Only it wasn't.

 

Gibbs wasn't sure what had triggered his change of heart. Maybe it was due to a cumulative effect from spending so many hours working alone with him. Now Gibbs was afraid he'd let his guard down, had became overly familiar with the younger man. He was suffering from a case of Tony-overload, too much of a good thing.

 

There were a hundred reasons, a hundred excuses, but in the end it didn't matter what had triggered it. What _did_ matter was that now he was starting to look at Tony in a different way, in a more appreciative, 'man, he's got a great ass,' and a 'fuck, I want some of that' way. He _knew_ that it was pure fantasy. A middle-aged man's wet dream, a straight-to-gay jump of the fence in one easy stride, Gibbs thought with a self-depreciating laugh. Who was he kidding? Tony was a sexually active Energizer bunny, the kind of guy who would never give someone like him, a man teetering on the wrong side of 45, a second look.

 

But Gibbs, who had never before so much as _looked_ at a man with any sexual interest, found himself waking up in the middle of the night with his dick in his hand, with an all-too realistic dream of Tony's long-limbed, naked body squirming underneath him, crying out in the throes of an orgasm, still fresh in his mind. It was… _unsettling_. It was also something that Gibbs never had any intention of pursuing.

 

Sometimes he caught, out of the corner of his eye, Tony watching him in a way that was not exactly what you'd call an appropriate way for an agent to be looking at his boss. It was always fleeting, a barely-there impression that left Gibbs doubting that he'd actually seen anything. That Tony worked hard at trying to impress him, to garner words of praise and attaboys, was no secret. But Gibbs had a feeling that all of Tony's efforts were only the tip of the iceberg, that Tony wasn't after public accolades, but was seeking a deeper kind of connection. It made sense with his personality, his childhood and background. The big problem was that Tony didn't have boundaries and one day it was likely that this was all going to come to a head, no matter how much Gibbs denied it.

 

Gibbs cared about Tony on a personal level and valued him as a partner – he would grant that much. He appreciated Tony's intuition, his investigative abilities, the way the kid got back up on his feet no matter how many times – or how hard – he got knocked down. And Gibbs appreciated that he could rely upon Tony, that he never had any doubt that Tony was there for him, loyal and willing. Gibbs knew he took advantage of Tony's blind devotion, and even if, at times, he berated himself for using Tony, it didn't stop him from doing it. He did, at times, earn that second B.

 

But if Gibbs was truthful, and at times he was, he would acknowledge that Tony brought out feelings in him that he'd believed to be long gone. He'd loved being a husband and father, and had found his calling in protecting his country and his family, building a place for them to live safely and securely. All it had taken was one man's evil intent for all those protective walls to come tumbling down.

 

Sometimes, even now, Gibbs wondered how he'd survived that darkness that tried to suck him in. But he _had_ survived, and he'd gone on with life, such as it was. He'd made it through those early years under Franks' rule, learned a lot and eventually created his own team – although neither Burley and Viv had lasted long.

 

And then came Tony.

 

Slowly, life had taken on more meaning, and after a long while, Gibbs had woken up one day to find he was actually smiling because he had to go to work. Because Tony would be there. Because Tony made Gibbs _want_ to be that solid foundation that the young man obviously needed. Tony made him feel protective and indulgent despite the exasperation and irritation that came as part of the 'This is Tony' package.

 

How he felt didn't matter though, because Gibbs sure as hell wasn't about express his innermost feelings to Tony. There was a line Gibbs wasn't going to cross, a very rigid line, and so he suppressed his emotions and desires until nothing remained but a vaguely paternal feeling for Tony. He could live with that. It was one of those times when the truth was best kept buried.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**


	6. Straightforward

**CHAPTER 6 - Straightforward**

**NCIS: Corporal Punishment, 5x10**  
Tony: (as [Tommy Lee Jones](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tommy_Lee_Jones)) All right, listen up, people. Our fugitive has been on the run for ninety minutes.  
Ziva: It has been three hours, Tony.  
Tony: Average foot speed over uneven ground, barring injuries, is 4 miles per hour.  
Ziva: He's not on foot, he's in a car!

~ • ~

 

So now they were together on the back end of an undercover op, on their own, stuck in a situation that was making Gibbs more antsy by the minute. He didn't trust these deputies, and he sure as shit didn't like being handcuffed. He couldn’t figure out how what should have been a straightforward undercover operation had gotten so screwed up.

 

"What else do you know?" Gibbs demanded.

 

Tony straightened, as if he'd remembered something important. "Oh, yeah, I heard one of them say they had orders to keep out of Pannatero's way, so these deputies knew what was going down and looked the other way. They're on the take, that much I can tell; one of them is sporting a $10,000 watch, for starters. Only…Boss? If it's a choice between us getting thrown in the pokey or being handed over to the mob…I'm all for getting locked up. I mean, if Pannatero thinks we have something that belongs to him he's likely to pull out the bamboo shoots, and I just got my nails manicured."

 

"I'll tell the sheriff we're NCIS agents when we get there," Gibbs reasoned. "One call and he'll know our credentials."

 

"Yeah, well, it might not be that easy, Boss. I already told the deputies we're federal agents and gave them Director Morrow's number, but they're convinced we're the bad guys. Deputy Earl Roper, he's the big one that read us our rights while you were unconscious and I was on the ground with his buddy's boot in my back. He informed me that we're wanted a lovely array of felonies: assault and battery, probation violation, larceny, conspiring to larceny, fugitive from justice, malicious wounding…"

 

"Malicious _what_? Oh hell," Gibbs muttered as he realized where all those charges had stemmed from.

 

Tony smiled ruefully. "Yeah, Abby gave us really good covers. These guys didn't believe me when I explained the situation, that we were undercover, assigned to recover stolen Navy property. I'm afraid the name NCIS doesn't strike fear into what passes for the law in these parts."

 

"You mean they'd never heard of NCIS," Gibbs said with a snort.

 

"I don't think so. They called their office and checked us out, and it looks like Abby created airtight histories for us. Apparently we're not very nice guys, Boss. We're wanted in three states, on all those charges. Or Abby _made_ it look like we're wanted, 'we' meaning Tony Rosato and Matt Dillon."

 

"Matt who?" Gibbs drew a blank for a second. "Oh yeah."

 

"Hey, you chose the alias, Boss."

 

Gibbs squared his shoulders. "I'll talk to Sheriff Boyd and get this straightened out." It sounded simple enough.

 

Tony hesitated before saying, "Even if we trust Boyd, which I don't from what I've overheard, it may take some convincing to get a face-to-face with him. It'll be morning before we get a chance to talk to him, and we really have to get this flash drive back to NCIS as soon as possible. Can't risk anyone getting their hands on it. It's safe for now…but they're going to frisk us and take it, probably do a cavity search…which might be fun under other circumstances but…"

 

"DiNozzo! You mean you've still got the flash thing?" Gibbs cast his eyes over Tony's body, trying to figure out where he'd hidden the small flash drive. He was still wearing his leather jacket and some pretty tight jeans, and for some reason the deputies hadn't taken either of their belts or boots. They'd both dressed casually, though Gibbs wore tailored slacks and a leather jacket of soft brown leather. It was an expensive prop that Tony and Abby had insisted he needed to wear in order to project the right image.

 

_"Hot but cool," Abby had said. Tony, grinning appreciatively, had echoed her words. "Definitely hot and cool, Boss." That had earned him a headslap._

Right now Gibbs was sweating and would have taken the jacket off if it weren't impossible due to the handcuff situation. "Where'd you hide it?" Gibbs asked Tony, running his eyes over his body.

 

Tony countered, "Don't look at me like that! I did _not_ ingest it."

 

"Well, I didn't exactly think you stuck it in your _mouth_ , DiNozzo."

 

"Then where did you think I…? Ew! Not up the ass, Boss. It's in my _boot_."

 

"Just so long as it's safe. So how do we get out of these?" Gibbs tested the handcuffs, thinking he could unlock them with the correct tool. "You got your pick on you?"

 

"It won't work," Tony warned, even as he produced a picklock. "I tried. Also, I have to warn you, the deputies are getting take-out. I asked them to bring us back fries and a drink but I don't think they were listening to me, even when I cited the Geneva Conventions."

 

"I think I can pick police-issue cuffs," Gibbs muttered under his breath as he snatched the small tool from Tony. He started fiddling with the lock but after a couple of minutes, and no success, Gibbs grunted and had a good hard look at the cuffs. "What the hell?"

 

"I was trying to tell you, Boss…"

 

"What the hell make are these cuffs?"

 

"Unfortunately, they're Medelock handcuffs. Sorry, Boss, but they need a special key." Gibbs stared until Tony sighed and said, "These aren't your standard issue cuffs. Medelocks have 4 rotating tumblers that need to be elevated and turned to the exact location, all at the same time. If even _one_ tumbler isn't at the right height or rotational degree the cuff will be locked tight and–"

 

Gibbs somehow managed to reach across with his uncuffed left hand and he delivered a smack to the back of Tony's head. "You making this up?"

 

"No!" Tony rubbed his head. "I went to a seminar in New York run by the FBI. You should have seen the show they put on, getting out of all sorts of handcuffs and manacles. Very Harry Houdini."

 

"Yeah, well, Houdini, we need to get out of here. Now," Gibbs said, yanking on the heavy bar over which the chain of their cuffs was looped. It didn't move.

 

"Ow!" Tony said as his left hand got jerked around by Gibbs' action.

 

Gibbs made an apologetic grunt. His own wrist was already bruised. Being cuffed together while on the run was not going to be any picnic, _if_ they ever got free.

 

"Gibbs?"

 

"What?"

 

Tony said patiently, "While you were sleeping–"

 

"I was _not_ sleeping," Gibbs retorted sharply.

 

"Okay, when you were out _cold_ , I hatched up a plan."

 

"Do I want to hear this?" Gibbs gave a shake of his head, which only served to make his head swim.

 

"Only if you want to come with me when I start running, Boss." Tony said sarcastically, "Oh! Geez, I guess you don't have any choice!" He pulled his knife out of his boot with a toothy grin. "You'd think these guys would know how to frisk a prisoner they were transporting. Sloppy, sloppy," Tony said, shaking his head. "You know, when I was on the force in Baltimore, we used to have some of these older model sedans in the motor pool. They're definitely not as well equipped or secure as the patrol cars they're coming out with today. They were nice, smooth rides though, with roomy trunks and lots of leg room."

 

"You got a point?" growled Gibbs.

 

Tony ignored the warning and continued, "We sold our decommissioned patrol cars to other law enforcement departments when we upgraded, like to sheriffs in outlying counties. You know, this might even be one of them. And I'll just bet that this security bar is bolted to the frame of the car, not welded…"

 

As Tony was talking, Gibbs inspected the bar. It was heavy, as thick as his wrist, and ran along the back of the seats, from one support between the doors to the other. Gibbs tugged on it, feeling a small amount of give on his end. He pulled out his own knife, which the deputies had missed, and without another word he started to carve away the soft interior of the car in order to get to the end of the heavy bar. As Tony had said, it was attached to the frame of the vehicle with bolts. Gibbs smiled and got to work.

 

Tony moved along the seat so he was close to Gibbs. His left hand, being attached to Gibbs' right, was getting pulled about, so he held onto the chain attaching them to each other. Gibbs worked away at the stubborn bolts, and Tony pulled out his own knife and helped him out for a bit. After a minute Tony put his knife back in his boot and started tugging on the bar with both hands, bracing his feet against the front seat in order to get some leverage.

 

Tony rambled on about some movie called _The Shawshank Redemption_ , and saying things like, "Some birds aren't meant to be caged," and "I came to prison to be a crook," and Gibbs did his best to ignore him. A few minutes later, after a great deal of grunting and tugging, the bar suddenly broke loose.

 

The two men were so surprised that they'd actually been able to achieve what they'd set out to do, that they sat there staring at the bar for a full three seconds before they came to their senses. Gibbs slipped the chain of their connecting cuffs off the end of the bar and they were free.

 

Tony was watching the front door of the diner through the windshield. "They're coming out the door any minute now," he warned.

 

Gibbs glanced up and could make out, through the plate glass window of the diner, the deputies at the register paying for their meal. "Let's go then," he urged.

 

The car doors were locked and the mechanism for unlocking them was up front. Tony peered through the protective cage separating the front and the back seats. "We can't reach..."

 

"Then break the damn window," Gibbs directed.

 

Tony twisted until he was practically lying in Gibbs' lap. He drew up his knees and in one swift motion, banged the heels of his boots against the window. It took a couple of tries but then there was a crash and pieces of glass flew everywhere. Neither Tony nor Gibbs wasted any time in scrambling out the car window. Tony ended up on his hands and knees but Gibbs, pulled forward by Tony's momentum, fell on his side, hitting the tarmac hard. He almost blacked out as an intense pain skewered his ribs and left him gasping. After a few breaths, the rushing sound in his ears receded and he heard Tony saying urgently, "Gibbs! Gibbs!"

 

Gibbs nodded and slowly got to his feet, bracing his side. The pain was still present but it wasn't quite as bad as before. "Let's move." Apparently there was nobody about to hear the breaking glass, but their window of opportunity was going to be brief. Gibbs knew they'd be lucky to find a vehicle to steal before the deputies discovered their prisoners had escaped.

 

With Gibbs' right hand on Tony's forearm to prevent the cuffs from digging into their wrists any more than was necessary, they stayed low and made their way between the cars until they were out of the direct line of sight of the diner's door.

 

Tony peeked around a mini-van to see where the deputies were. "They're still at the register."

 

The parking lot had vehicles of all makes and sizes but Gibbs didn't see any older models, the only kind they could hotwire, what with all the safeguards the car-makers now added for security. If they didn't get some wheels soon, they'd have to make a run for it. The parking area was surrounded by heavy woods on three sides, and out front, across the street, were a couple of stores, Mom-and-Pops that appeared to be closed. There were no other buildings for quite a way in either direction, as far as Gibbs could make out. Wherever they were, this diner was located on a quiet stretch of road.

 

A pickup truck pulled up and a young couple got out, oblivious to the two men hiding behind a nearby vehicle. For a second, Gibbs thought about demanding the keys, but then he saw the woman reach back in and pull out a toddler. No way was he going to carjack a family.

 

Best thing was to get the hell out of there immediately. "Stay low," Gibbs ordered.

 

He expected Tony to follow without question, but Tony balked, saying, "We need a car, Boss."

 

"We need to put some distance between us while we can. We'll regroup, figure something out, get a car after dark."

 

Tony dug in his heels. "We may not get another chance to boost a car. The minute they see we're gone, the place will be crawling with cops, and they'll bring the dogs, and they'll track us into the swamp and–"

 

"This is _not_ some escaped convict movie, DiNozzo!"

 

Tony stared at him with a dubious expression that would have been funny under different circumstances. "You sure about that, Boss?"

 

Gibbs had just about reached the end of his tether. "If we don't find a car in sixty seconds, I'm taking off," he said, pointing to the woods.

 

"Uh, Boss, you _do_ know we're tied together," Tony pointed out, lifting their cuffed wrists in the air.

 

Gibbs got in Tony's face. "You think that's gonna stop me from dragging your ass along with me?"

 

"No, of course not. And I'd like to point out that cave-man suits you, Gibbs," Tony said with a grin.

 

Gibbs took a deep breath and indicated a compact car the next row over. "This one?"

 

"It'll jam up unless you start it with a key," Tony said.

 

Knowing they only had a few minutes, at most, Gibbs ordered, "Keep looking for an older model." They moved quickly through the parking lot, using the cars for cover, but they were running out of time. They'd have to head for the cover of the trees, and soon. "C'mon, this isn't working," Gibbs said insistently, tugging on the handcuff chain when Tony didn't immediately move along with him.

 

Gibbs kept half an eye on the deputies, who were still inside and didn't look like they were in any hurry to get back to their vehicle and prisoners. The few door handles that Tony tried were locked and Gibbs was about to say, 'Time's up,' when he spotted exactly what he was looking for. A red Camaro. It looked like a 1970 model with mismatched tires, a missing rear bumper, and a door panel someone had replaced in a dark shade of blue. Not pretty, but it would do.

 

Tony saw it at the same time and he grinned. "Yes!"

 

"Wait! Tools," Gibbs said, pulling Tony over to a pickup truck with a couple of ladders and a mess of house-painting gear stowed in the flatbed. It only took him a moment to find a toolbox and the tools he was looking for.

 

The Camaro was locked but the back windows were cracked open. It didn't take much pressure to break the glass. Unfortunately, this time the sound of breaking glass must have been loud enough to alert someone, and as Gibbs pushed Tony into the car and across the driver's seat, he heard a shout of alarm.

 

"Man, this car is a pig sty. Looks like a Rottweiler ate the seats," Tony complained as Gibbs got to work, forcing the cover off the steering column – it was halfway off anyway. Tony rattled on while he checked out the glove compartment and under the seats, "What is wrong with people? Look at these gross take-out containers! I think they've been here since the '80s. Look, road maps! A flashlight!" He tried it out. "Cool, it works, and…uh oh…Boss?" Tony scrunched down in the seat. "Incoming at ten o'clock!"

 

Praying the car was going to start, or else they'd be in seriously deep shit, Gibbs jammed the screwdriver in the ignition and turned it…and the engine sparked and roared to life. A split second later, just as one of the deputies ran towards the car, his weapon drawn while shouting at them to "Stop or I'll shoot," Gibbs slammed the Camaro into reverse and gunned the stolen car backwards through the parked cars. With tires screeching, he executed an about-face and immediately shifted into drive, all the time aware that both of the deputies were aiming their guns at the car. There was a shot and then another, and a metallic thunk that told him a round had hit the car. Another man, presumably the owner of the stolen Camaro, was running after them, madly waving his arms.

 

Gibbs accelerated towards the exit at a high speed and fishtailed over the sandy shoulder and onto the paved road. There was more gunfire and the rear window exploded. Gibbs ducked instinctively, glancing at Tony to make sure he hadn't been hit.

 

"Fuck!" shouted Tony as they pulled away at an ever-increasing speed.

 

"You okay?" Gibbs shouted.

 

"What? Yeah! Sure, but oh man, this is way too General Lee for me, getting shot at for the second time today and…Shit, here they come!" Tony buckled up his seatbelt with one hand, taking care not to let his cuffed left hand pull at Gibbs' hand, which was gripping the steering wheel. Even so, Gibbs' wrist was as sore as hell from the cold steel biting into his wrist.

 

Tony grabbed the door handle as the Camaro careened onto a secondary road. "They're still following," Tony reported, twisting to look at the road behind them. The flashing lights and sirens got louder as the Sheriff's Department vehicle started to gain on them. "Coming up fast. So, Boss, how fast do you think _this_ baby can go?"

 

Gibbs just grinned and pressed down on the gas pedal.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 


	7. On the Run

**CHAPTER 7 - On the Run**

**NCIS: The Truth Is Out There, 1x17  
** Tony: 40-mile zone ended 2 miles back, Boss. Limit’s 65…I only mention it because you usually drive slightly faster than Dale Earnhardt, Jr. 

 

 **NCIS: Ignition, 7x11  
** Ziva: What is so hard? You go as fast as possible, when something gets in your way, you turn.

 

~ • ~

 

Tony's nose was in the road map, as he used the flashlight to figure out where they were. "If I'm reading this right, we're halfway home, Boss."

 

It had been more than four hours since they'd shaken the sheriff's deputies, and although a black-and-white had taken up the chase for a while, Gibbs had managed to lose them in a maze of country roads. It had been close for a while, but Gibbs drove like he had nothing to lose, and the cruiser wasn't as adept at taking corners as the Camaro was.

 

Gibbs had been following instinct, crossing a few major routes before zipping right and then left and right again on country roads. It had been dark for a couple of hours, which gave them extra cover, but it had only been luck that they had so far eluded capture.

 

Tony gave directions and at one point they risked taking a main route for a few miles. They encountered light traffic before Gibbs took a secondary road once again, knowing it was the safest thing to do. Tony turned around a few times, making Gibbs check the rearview mirror. "You see something back there?"

 

"Uh, not really. Dark and more darkness," Tony replied. "Look, I'm only bringing this up because by now there's a BOLO out on us, and there's a strong chance we'll get stopped by a state cop before we get back to the Navy Yard. And those deputies aren't going to give up easily. And Pannatero and maybe even Lance Corporal Manhattan have got to be looking for us, right?"

 

"You looking for trouble, DiNozzo?"

 

"Just being a realist, Boss. I know those two asshole deputies did their best to beat the crap out of us, and they're probably in bed with Pannatero, but they're still cops. I really don't want to find myself in a position where it's me or them. And, seeing as we don't have weapons, I'm gonna guess they'd win the fight."

 

"You think we should turn ourselves in?" Gibbs asked, keeping his tone even.

 

Tony suggested, "Maybe we could find a police station and convince them we're Navy cops? All it would take would be a phone call…"

 

Gibbs understood where Tony was coming from, but his idea was far too dangerous. He shook his head. "There's probably an order to shoot us on sight, DiNozzo. Besides, we can't let that flash drive out of our hands."

 

"Yeah, okay," said Tony, shrugging unhappily. After a while he asked, "You need a drink? There're a couple of sodas rolling around here somewhere." Tony produced a can and popped the tab with one hand. Foam spewed out of the opening, fizzling angrily. "It's warm Caf-Pow. Not my beverage of choice but it's got a lot of caffeine in it, as Abby can attest to."

 

Gibbs slowed down and accepted the can, though there was a bit of fumbling due to their hands being linked together. After he finished drinking, Gibbs stuck the can between their seats. "How can people drink that crap?" he asked, pulling a face.

 

"Better than Yoo-Hoo or Dr. Pepper, or that abysmal stuff they drink in Maine…what's it called? Moxie, that's it!" Tony shuddered dramatically.

 

"Thanks anyway, Tony." Gibbs belatedly realized that he'd used Tony's first name.

 

Surprised, Tony smiled. "No problem…Jethro."

 

Gibbs raised an eyebrow but he decided to give Tony some slack and allow him to get away with using 'Jethro' this one time. Tony had taken care of him, had fought for him when the deputies had been tasering him. He was as loyal as they came, and game for just about anything; out of all the people he might have been partnered with on this assignment, Gibbs was glad it was Tony by his side.

 

Gibbs' head was still aching and his bruised ribs were not doing him any favors, but the cool night air coming in the broken back window was refreshing. A glance at Tony, who was looking at the nighttime countryside whizzing by as if he didn't have a care in the world, told him that his second-in-command was doing okay.

 

Unfortunately, as time wore on, the pain in Gibbs' side grew steadily worse and even breathing became painful. He had a feeling he'd cracked a rib when they'd exited the deputies' vehicle back at the diner. Or maybe falling on his side had made an earlier injury worse. God knows _what_ damage that Deputy Roper had inflicted on him while he'd been unconscious. Shifting in the driver's seat wasn't easing the pain any, and Tony started looking at him with ever-increasing concern.

 

Finally, Tony said, "Gibbs, we need to pull over."

 

Gibbs shook his head dismissively. If he stopped now, he'd never find the strength to get going again. He wasn't feeling too good overall, and his head and his ribs were aching like a bitch; all he wanted to do was lie down and have a good long sleep. But no, they had orders to get the flash drive to NCIS and place the gizmo in Director Morrow's hand. He was damned if he was going to fail at what was supposed to be a simple assignment.

 

"You may be stubborn, Boss, but I know for a fact you're not deaf." Tony laid his hand on top of Gibbs where it gripped the wheel, and he said softly but firmly, "The world isn't going to come to a grinding halt if we take a breather. Just for a few minutes. I need to take a leak, anyway."

 

Gibbs sighed and eased his foot off the accelerator. They were on yet another country road, and although they had passed the occasional house as they'd driven the past few miles, this stretch of road was dark. "Fine," Gibbs said, annoyed. He turned a little to look at Tony, about to ask him how much longer to DC.

 

He didn't know if it was because he twisted, or if it would have happened anyway, but Gibbs coughed and the pain in his side was so bad he cried out and leaned into the steering wheel. The Camaro swerved and it would have gone off the road if Tony hadn't grabbed the steering wheel. Gibbs stomped on the brake and a second later they came to a grinding halt.

 

"Gibbs?"

 

Holding onto his ribs, unable to catch his breath, Gibbs gasped, "Oh…hell," and then he blacked out.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

Tony had been concerned about Gibbs right from the start. He'd been looking progressively worse and he hadn't been able to hide that he wasn't doing well. Deputy Roper had not only tasered Gibbs, but had punched and kicked him repeatedly, even when Gibbs was down. Tony berated himself for not checking Gibbs over more thoroughly, to ascertain what the damage was. If Gibbs' injuries were bad enough for him to pass out, he should be in the hospital.

 

"Gibbs! Gibbs? Boss? Jethro?" Tony called, to no avail. "Please do _not_ do this to me."

 

Unable to rouse Gibbs, even with some light smacks to his cheek, Tony decided to switch places with him. Getting into the driver's seat and pushing Gibbs over while they were handcuffed – and while Gibbs was unconscious – was a tricky proposition, but Tony managed it.

 

Now Gibbs was now slumped over in the passenger seat, his handcuffed right arm stretched across his stomach, the chain taut and connected to Tony's left wrist. It was a bit like playing Twister, thought Tony, but at least now he could drive. Tony took a moment to check on the wound on Gibbs' head, where he'd been kicked by Deputy Roper. It was congealed so Tony left it alone.

 

He got the Camaro back on the road. It was important to keep moving, but where to? Gibbs needed medical help, no doubt about that. Tony pulled up to a major intersection and hesitated while deciding whether to follow the H signs for a hospital, or to continue driving all the way to DC; both of these choices came with their own set of risks.

 

At that moment, Gibbs moaned and slowly opened his eyes. He looked around groggily and mumbled, "What? Where're we?"

 

"Um, Baker's Ridge," Tony said, as they passed the post office. "I'm taking you to a hospital, Boss."

 

Gibbs cleared his throat and then stared at their handcuffed wrists stretched between themselves. "How'd you…?"

 

"I'm a contortionist," Tony joked. "Like these twin trapeze artists in met in Peoria…Man, they were limber…" He continued along the main road, keeping an eye out for cops. It was a small town with a few strip malls along the main drag, all of which were closed at this time of night.

 

Gibbs laid his hand on Tony's thigh. "No hospital."

 

"Gibbs," Tony warned.

 

"I said no."

 

"You have a head injury and from the way you're hugging your ribs…"

 

Gibbs sat up and even though Tony could tell he was making a valiant effort to control any outward sign of pain, Gibbs couldn't hide a wince.

 

"Gibbs…" Tony said in a warning voice.

 

"I'm not so bad I can't sit in a car for a couple of hours," Gibbs said testily.

 

Tony shook his head. "I don't want to risk–"

 

"Listen to me."

 

"But you're–"

 

"Hey! You listening?"

 

Tony glared at his boss. "Yeah, but don't you tell me it doesn't hurt you every time you breathe. I can see it and it is _not_ a good sign."

 

Gibbs sighed, though not too deeply. "Okay! It hurts. But it's not like I'm coughing blood or anything and–"

 

"You passed out," Tony reminded him, making his displeasure clear.

 

Making an impatient gesture, Gibbs countered, "If I go to a hospital it's the same as turning myself in to the local law. That goes for you, too."

 

Tony decided it was time to get down to some hard bargaining. "Okay, how about we get you looked at, and I'll make a call to NCIS with a sit-rep? We can be out of there before the deputies turn up."

 

"And if we don't get out before they arrive? We'll be screwed. Those deputies will get their hands on the flash drive and they're gonna hand it over to Pannatero. And what's worse, our defense system will be screwed, and countless American lives will be at risk. No, it's our job to do whatever it takes to evade getting caught. We need to make a straight line for DC, so stop wasting time, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered.

 

Not at all happy, Tony drove for a few minutes before saying reluctantly, "All right, but if you get any worse, I'm taking you to the nearest ER, and I don't care how much you protest. I'll find some way of hiding the flash drive where nobody'll find it, and I'll let our people know where they can retrieve it. Then, if I'm tortured…"

 

Gibbs allowed a small nod and replied, "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

 

"Let's hope we don't end up with a bullet to the head and our bodies tossed in the swamp and never found," Tony replied.

 

One corner of Gibbs' mouth quirked up but he said, quite seriously, "Then we'll do whatever it takes to avoid that situation."

 

That settled, Tony suddenly felt very hungry. "Look, there's a Chicky-Bob's drive-in over there. Let's get some food, then we'll pull out of the way somewhere. I've heard their coffee is really good." Gibbs actually perked up a little at that. At least he didn’t say no.

 

The youth manning the drive-in window at Chicky-Bob's took ages to fill their order but eventually they got a couple of burgers, barbecue chicken nuggets, sweet potato fries, a soda for Tony and a couple of bottles of water, plus two large coffees – both for Gibbs. When Tony waved an extra ten in front of the kid's face, he procured a bottle of Tylenol from somewhere. It had been opened and was half full, but as there was no way they could traipse into a drugstore, handcuffed as they were, it would have to do.

 

Tony backed the Camaro into a secluded spot at the rear of the parking lot, away from the streetlights, and organized the food. Gibbs only ate a couple of bites of a burger but he seemed to enjoy the coffee. Tony kept half an eye on him. He was favoring his left side and he wasn't very good at hiding his pain, which spoke volumes about how tired he was. Tony opened the Tylenol and shook out three pills. Gibbs took them with a slight nod.

 

As soon as he'd eaten a burger and fries, and downed half a coke, Tony opened the door just enough so he could take a piss. "Sorry, Boss, nature calls." With his left wrist cuffed to Gibbs' right one, their arms joined across their bodies, he didn't have much wiggle room. Gibbs did the same on his side of the vehicle a minute later, though he had trouble closing the door again and Tony had to reach over to help him out.

 

Being so close to Gibbs, practically leaning on his chest, would have been one hell of a turn-on for Tony, under different circumstances. As it was, getting a whiff of coffee, sweat and a hint of day-old aftershave was enough to remind Tony how much he was attracted to – okay, how much he _cared_ for Gibbs – and that he dare not show it. Now, with Gibbs hurt, it was now his job to take care of the man, and Tony took that job seriously. So, no thinking about anything except how he was going to get them out of this mess and to safety.

 

Once they were settled back in their seats, and Tony started the engine, Gibbs asked quietly, "Can you drive like this? With our arms crossed over the middle?"

 

Concerned at the way Gibbs sounded so worn out, Tony nodded. "Yeah, it's awkward, but _you_ can't drive."

 

"Can't?" Gibbs glared at him.

 

Tony decided to call a spade a spade as he drove out of town. "Look, I can see you're hurting, Boss, and I think you need to conserve your strength. If we have to face those deputies, we're going to need all our strength just to get out alive."

 

"Then maybe we'd better not get caught, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied sharply.

 

"We'll be like Dr. Kimble, on the run for four years."

 

"Dr. who?"

 

"Not Dr. Who. It's _The Fugitive_. The TV show that ran for four years back in the mid-sixties." Tony looked askance at Gibbs. " _The Fugitive_." How could he not know?

 

"Never saw it." Gibbs sounded proud.

 

Tony looked askance at Gibbs. "Never?"

 

"I was a kid, DiNozzo. You weren't born yet," Gibbs retorted.

 

"Uh, can you say, 'Netflix,' Boss? Reruns on TV?" When Gibbs didn't reply, Tony said, "Okay, so Dr. Kimble comes home and finds his wife has been murdered by a one-armed man. He's accused of the murder himself, and now desperate and on the lam, but he's determined to find the killer and–"

 

Gibbs' face scrunched up in thought and then he asked, "Did they make this into a movie? Tommy Lee Jones?"

 

Tony sat there with one hand on the wheel and his mouth hanging open.

 

Gibbs eyed Tony and smirked a little. "You quote from it often enough. 'A hard-target search of every farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse.' That right? Keep your eyes on the road, DiNozzo."

 

Tony did as he was told but glanced Gibbs' way with suspicious eyes. "Have you been holding out on me, Boss?"

 

Gibbs chuckled and didn't reply. He got himself comfortable and closed his eyes with a small sigh.

 

Tony took a chance and suggested, "I was thinking how maybe we should find an out-of-the-way motel and rest up for a few hours. It's way after midnight. We can get a few hours' sleep and be on our way before sun-up."

 

Gibbs kept his eyes closed and said, "Better to keep moving."

 

"We're two counties away from those deputies by now but this car _has_ to be on every cop's radar within a couple hundred miles. What we need to do is steal another car. Nobody'll catch on if we do the old switcharoo, until we're long gone."

 

Gibbs took a moment to think it over, resting his head on the back of his seat. He rubbed his eyes and said, "It's not a good idea."

 

"Gibbs, we have a shot-out rear window and a car that sticks out a mile, what with that blue door. We need to get another car."

 

Gibbs sighed but after a long minute, he said, "Okay, but we find a car before we get a room. We can hotwire it when we leave in the morning. No later than 0430."

 

Surprised that Gibbs had agreed, Tony smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

 

Gibbs lifted his hand a little, jangling the chain that bound them together. "So…how we gonna explain _these_ when we walk into a motel?"

 

"Tell them it's our kink?" Tony suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

"Oh yeah, like the cuffs and our bruised faces won't give us away as being fugitives," Gibbs said sarcastically.

 

"Oh, don't worry. I'll think of something," Tony said with a grin.

 

Gibbs snorted. "I'm sure you will, DiNozzo."

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 


	8. The End of the Line

**CHAPTER 8 - The End of the Line**

**NCIS: Flesh and Blood, 7x12**  
Tony: I have to break one of your rules, boss. Number six: never say you're sorry. I let things get out of control in the hotel room.  
Gibbs: Ah, it's covered. Rule eighteen.  
Tony: Oh, yeah. It's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission. Am I forgiven?  
Gibbs: No.

~ • ~

The multi-storey End-o-the-Line Hotel was close to a railway freight yard and had certainly seen better days, but the lobby was relatively clean and, as Tony commented later on, when they got to their room, "At least the cockroaches are smaller than dogs."

 

Tony leaned over the counter at the front desk and smiled winningly at the old lady who was the night manager. "Like I said, my boyfriend and I…well, guess I'd better get used to calling Matt my hubby now…" Tony looked at Gibbs from under his eyelashes and smiled sweetly. "The guys at our wedding thought it would be funny to handcuff us together…"

 

Gibbs muttered, "Yeah, right. Funny."

 

"…and it turns out they didn't have the key. Locksmith was closed. We need sleep."

 

"Mmm. Sleep."

 

"You get in a fight?" Millie asked, eyeing the bruises on their faces, courtesy of the deputies.

 

"Not with each other," Tony said with a laugh. He looked sideways at Gibbs and asked, "Isn't that right, babe?" Gibbs' reply was a smirk as he pinched Tony's ass. Tony jumped with a small squeal. "Hey!"

 

Gibbs swayed on his feet until Tony put an arm around him and pulled him close. Tony wasn't certain how much of it was for show; he could see lines of pain around Gibbs' mouth and his forehead was shiny with sweat.

 

They'd left the Camaro in a lot behind a building just up the street. If he'd been alone, Tony would have dumped it further away, but it had been pretty obvious that Gibbs wasn't going to be able to walk more than half a block. They'd spotted a Dodge Dart in an ugly tan color parked on the street, and agreed they could most likely start it with the few tools they had.

 

The woman, who had to be eighty if she was a day, had eaten up Tony's tale of woe. It probably helped that he handed her cash up front, although later on he insisted to Gibbs that the woman had been more influenced by his smile than by the money. He signed in for both of them, mouthing their names. "Mr. Tony Rosato and Mr. Matt Dillon. I guess that makes me Tony Dillon now," Tony said with a sweet smile at Gibbs.

 

"Well, you call me Millie, hon," she said, squinting through her cigarette smoke. "You ever see that Hitchcock movie?"

 

Tony raised his eyebrows. "All of them. Which one are you talking about?"

 

Millie thought hard for a minute. "The one with Mr. Memory, the man who remembered everything he ever read or heard."

 

" _The 39 Steps_ ," said Tony, excited that Millie knew the film. "It was 1935."

 

"Yeah, that's the one. I always thought how romantic it was when the man dragged that poor girl all over the place, when they were handcuffed together and on the run from the police." She looked over the counter at Tony's and Gibbs' linked hands, before looking Tony straight in the eye. "They must hurt like the devil. You sure you two are married?"

 

Tony felt Gibbs stiffen beside him, but he squeezed the older man's hand and said, "Yes, ma'am, we are. And they do hurt." He refrained from asking her if her knowledge of handcuffs came from personal experience; he really didn't want to know.

 

Gibbs relaxed when Millie casually handed them a room key. "Second floor, front, boys. Ice machine's next to the elevator," she said curtly.

 

Maybe customers who came in bruised and handcuffed were the norm for this kind of rat-trap hotel, thought Tony. He slapped Gibbs' ass just for the hell of it and got a headslap in return, which couldn't have been easy with their hands chained together. Tony chuckled. "Some things don't change."

 

Millie looked at Gibbs. "He seems like a handful."

 

"Oh yes," Gibbs agreed.

 

Tony rolled his eyes. He tipped Millie a twenty, thinking that at this rate he wouldn't have enough money left for gas, for the final leg of their journey back to DC. "You've been really sweet, Millie. There'll be another hundred in it for you when we check out in the morning. Now, remember, you never saw us, right? It's hush-hush," he said with a finger to his lips.

 

In return, Millie said, with a deadpan expression, "I never saw you. I'm an old lady. My memory's shot. My eyesight's something awful. Now, where'd I leave my hearing aid?"

 

They made a brief stop at an ice machine at the back of the lobby and took a small bucket of ice with them. The elevator worked, thank God, even though it creaked and made weird ping sounds as it slowly ascended. As soon as the doors slipped closed, Gibbs leaned heavily against the wall. He turned his head slowly to look at Tony and asked, "How much money have you _got_ in that boot o' yours?"

 

Tony smiled with a shake of his head. "Not enough to pay her another hundred. I figure we'll be out the back door in the morning before anyone's the wiser. Make our getaway in our borrowed Dodge. Hey, Matt Dillon was the sheriff of Dodge City, right? And our getaway car is going to be a Dodge?"

 

As soon as they were in their room – which wasn't quite as bad as Tony had envisioned, even if the carpet was threadbare and there was flypaper hanging in the bathroom – Gibbs made for the bed. He seemed to forget that Tony was handcuffed to him, but Tony moved quickly so the cuffs wouldn't drag on his wrist. He dropped their luggage, which consisted of the ice bucket and the bag with the remains of their food and drink, by the bedside, and lay next to Gibbs. They both kept their shoes on in case they needed to make a quick escape.

 

Gibbs closed his eyes and slung his arm over his eyes with a small groan. His pallid appearance made the bruises and scrapes on his face all the more apparent.

 

Concerned, Tony asked, "You want some Tylenol?"

 

Gibbs took a deep breath and coughed a couple of times before pulling himself up so to a sitting position. Tony could see what an effort it was taking him not to groan. After drinking half a bottle of water and downing a couple more pain pills, Gibbs slipped down in the bed with a grunt of thanks. Tony pulled a blanket out from under Gibbs' legs and covered him.

 

Gibbs' eyes were closed but he took hold of Tony's hand and gave it a squeeze. The chain linking them together jingled quietly. "Thanks, Tony," he mumbled, not letting go.

 

Liking the feeling of the rough, warm hand over his own, and finding his heart thumping at the thought that Gibbs, no matter how badly off he might be, was trying to offer him comfort, Tony replied, "We're going to be fine, Jethro. Just get some rest."

 

"Mmm. Wake me when it's time to leave. No later than 0500."

 

Tony agreed, "Okay. Look, my wrist is killing me and I'll bet yours is, too. Let me apply some ice, and afterwards, a bit of cushioning." His wrist bone was damn sore, as well as being an ugly color, and there was bruising halfway up his forearm, but some ice should bring some relief. Gibbs's wrist looked no better. Tony wrapped some ice cubes in the plastic bag from their take-out, and carefully laid the impromptu ice pack upon Gibbs' bruised wrist. When Gibbs winced, Tony did, too. "This should help. Let me know if it starts to leak."

 

About half an hour later the ice had melted and Tony cleared up the mess. Gibbs watched through half-closed eyes while Tony pulled out his knife and sliced up a pillowcase. He bandaged his wrist with the cotton strips, and wrapped the metal handcuff as well. He did the same for Gibbs and when he was done, Tony looked up to find Gibbs watching him with a fond expression on his face.

 

"What?" Tony asked, feeling his cheeks heating up under the close scrutiny.

 

Gibbs smiled and mumbled, "Thanks. Again."

 

"It's for my comfort as much as yours."

 

"You're a good partner, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, looking at Tony with a slight frown, as if seeing something in him he hadn't recognized before.

 

That made Tony blush even more. "Really?"

 

"You have doubts?"

 

Tony gave a small shrug. "Well, yeah. Sometimes it's hard to tell, Boss."

 

"I give praise when it's due." Gibbs seemed a little affronted.

 

"Honestly, you're a miser when it comes to doling out any praise. It's your right, of course, but it makes it hard to gauge when I'm doing a good enough job," Tony said truthfully.

 

Gibbs practically growled at Tony, "Don't I tell you when you don't meet my expectations?"

 

Tony rubbed the back of his head and said, without hesitation, "Oh yeah. You let me know when I've messed up, Boss."

 

"Then the rest of the time you're doing a good job, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, sounding exasperated, as if Tony should know this.

 

A slow smile dawned on Tony's lips. "Oh, okay. Yeah, shoulda known." He settled back on his pillows and asked, "Did you know that one of the crew members on _The Defiant Ones_ didn't want his name to appear in the film's credits? Turned out he had escaped from a real-life chain gang years earlier and the law was looking for him years later."

 

"Did they ever catch him?" Gibbs asked.

 

"Not that I ever heard, but this was back in the late '50s. The people working on the film, the actors as well as the crew, didn't want him to go un-credited so they gave him the alias 'Charlie Potatoes'. You can see it in the credits."

 

"Charlie Potatoes?"

 

"It means a guy who is on top of the world, doing well for himself," Tony said. "Or he thinks he's got everything going for him, until he realizes he's nothing without his friend. The friend is played by Sidney Poitier, who Curtis is handcuffed to for most of the movie. Of course they're enemies to begin with, a black man and a white man in the south in the 50s. They're chased by prison guards, dogs, almost get lynched, but they eventually get out of the handcuffs and go their separate ways. Then Tony Curtis finds out that his buddy is walking into a trap. Curtis goes after him, warns him, but he gets shot for his trouble, and Poitier, who's escaping on a freight train, jumps off when he sees Curtis is in trouble. Poitier gives up his freedom for his friend. It's clear that they're going to get caught in the last scene, but somehow, it's all right. It's a great movie."

 

"You saying you're a Charlie Potatoes?" asked Gibbs. "Does that make me Poitier?"

 

Tony thought about that for a moment before nodding. "I'd like to think we're not quite as desperate as they were. I mean, we weren't enemies at the beginning, but…"

 

"But we rely upon each other," Gibbs finished up.

 

"And if we got separated, we'd go back for the other guy. I'd come back for you," Tony said earnestly.

 

Gibbs sighed and blinked heavily a few times. "You know I'd never leave you behind, Tony. Don't worry; it won't come to that. We'll get out of this. Together."

 

"Yeah, we will. Your head still hurt?"

 

"Not so much."

 

"You sleep now," said Tony, smiling at the way Gibbs was unable to keep his eyes open any longer. "I'll keep watch, Boss."

 

""s good, Tony." A minute later, Gibbs was asleep. Tony pushed a couple of pillows into a comfortable position behind his back and sat up a bit, leaning against the headboard. Unable to remove his jacket due to the constraints of the cuffs, Tony was a bit too warm, and he dozed on and off. He could hear the sound of light traffic from the street below, and a train rolled slowly through town around two, but apart from that and the occasional door closing somewhere far away in the hotel, it was pretty quiet.

 

Around three, Gibbs stirred and groaned. With his free arm around his ribs, he rolled over and sat up with difficulty.

 

Tony immediately put a hand on Gibbs' back to prevent him from falling back. "You okay?"

 

"Gotta use the head," Gibbs said between clenched teeth.

 

Tony, of course, had to accompany Gibbs. He kept a supportive hand on Gibbs' elbow until he was shaken off, and even then he hovered, as Gibbs seemed none-too steady.

 

"Funny," Tony said casually as they entered the small bathroom. "It's like when you lose power. You still flip the light switch on as you walk past, out of habit." Gibbs blinked at him with a puzzled expression, so Tony explained, "Take these handcuffs, for instance. I know we're hitched together, but I keep thinking things like, 'I'll go take a shower,' or 'I'll scout for a car for us to steal while you're resting.'" He raised their hands and looked at the handcuffs. "And then I remember we're joined at the wrist. All things considered, I think we're doing pretty well chained together. It's like we're moving as one person, dance partners doing the tango…slow, slow, quick quick…slow, slow quick, quick slow."

 

Gibbs, standing at the toilet, unzipped his fly and asked sourly, "You planning on asking me for a dance or d'you think maybe I can take a piss in private?"

 

Tony belatedly realized he was watching Gibbs pulling out his dick. "Whoa!" He blushed a little and looked away. "Sorry, Boss."

 

Relieving himself, Gibbs sighed. "Not your fault we got jammed up in this nightmare."

 

Tony agreed, "It's like one of those bad dreams where you keep sinking deeper and deeper into a muddy pit of quicksand, and the harder you struggle, the faster you get sucked in. Rod Serling would say it's 'a prolonged nightmare in which fear, loneliness, and the unexplainable walk _hand_ in _hand_ through the shadows.' _Twilight Zone_ ," he explained before Gibbs could ask. "Not that I'm scared or anything," he was quick to add.

 

Gibbs grunted, agreeing with Tony that the situation was a nightmare. He finished up, washed his hands without getting the makeshift padding on his handcuffed wrist wet, and made it back to the bed under his own power. Tony had to clamber over him in order to get back to his side of the bed. "Sorry, Boss."

 

Once they were settled, Tony took a minute to look Gibbs over, seeking signs that his concussion or any of his other injuries warranted an immediate trip to the hospital. There had been indications, right from the start, that Gibbs' head was killing him, and that he felt nauseous and was unsteady on his feet, but to Tony's experienced eye, Gibbs didn't look like he was going downhill. He was hurting, sure, mostly from his ribs, but he wasn't wheezing or becoming unusually pale or anything. Gibbs had recovered pretty quickly despite passing out a couple of hours ago – which had really freaked Tony out at the time – and he had walked into the hotel without any assistance. So, relatively speaking, as long as Gibbs was walking and talking, and not puking on anyone's shoes, he passed Tony's cursory version of medical exam.

 

"What you looking at?" Gibbs asked, his voice holding a warning.

 

"Just making sure you're doing okay," Tony said mildly.

 

Gibbs glowered at Tony. "You got a medical degree all of a sudden?"

 

Tony understood Gibbs being a bit defensive but he didn't like, or deserve, to be growled at. He raised his chin. "Actually, I do, sort of. In sports medicine. It not only comes in handy with this job, but it means I have options." Gibbs knew damned well what degrees he held.

 

After a moment Gibbs' features relaxed and he bowed his head in apology. "Yeah, well, it isn't your medical skills that makes me keep you around, DiNozzo," Gibbs said cryptically. He made himself comfortable and closed his eyes.

 

After a moment, Tony turned the light off and did the same.

 

Tony was almost asleep when he heard Gibbs ask quietly, "You saying you get lonely?"

 

For a second, Tony wondered who Gibbs was talking to, but when he turned his head on the pillow he could see the gleam of Gibbs' eyes as he looked at him. "What?"

 

"Fear and loneliness, walking hand in hand," Gibbs said, repeating the quote Tony had spoken earlier.

 

Tony's immediate instinct was to deny ever being lonely, but lying there in the dark, so close to Gibbs, not knowing what the daylight would bring, the truth slipped out. "Sometimes. I get lonely on long weekends or holidays – mostly on holidays when everyone but me seems to have somewhere to go, some family thing to attend. I look out my window at the cars driving by, full of happy people, and I imagine where they're going: picnic at the lake, taking in a ball game, maybe to a family dinner. I even envy them doing ordinary things like going to the supermarket. I used to do that as a kid – watch people and make up names and back-stories for them. I'd pretend I was part of their family and sometimes it would seem so real, every detail…"

 

Talking about it was making him maudlin, and so Tony went silent for a bit. Gibbs was still watching him patiently, expecting something more. Tony said softly, "If I get stir-crazy I can go over to your house and watch you working your magic on your boat. Or if I'm lucky we get caught up in some crazy case, and everyone is moaning about working on their days off, but secretly I'm happy…because we're together…and I'm not lonely any more." Tony gave a half-hearted shrug, embarrassed and puzzled as to why he would reveal something so personal about himself to Gibbs. "You'd think that with my upbringing I'd be used to being alone…only I wasn't alone very often. There was always someone around, some grown-up. I'd try to make myself useful, helping Rodrigo change the oil in the car, or making dinner with Maria. Dad didn't like it. If he found out, he'd get mad and I'd get a…a lecture."

 

"That didn't stop you though," Gibbs said.

 

Tony gave a rueful laugh. "No, you know me. Damn the consequences. Isn't that rule number 18?"

 

It took a while before Gibbs responded, and when he did his voice was so quiet Tony could barely hear him. "You don't have to be that way, Tony. Lonely. Not any more."

 

Snorting softly, Tony said, "Yeah, all I have to do is settle down with any of the _many_ women I go out with. Like that will ever happen. Right." He could feel Gibbs looking at him, questioning his words. "Nobody ever sticks with me long enough…Guess there's something about me…something that says I'm not worth the effort. Or that it'll end badly. Anyway, I'm used to it."

 

"You shouldn't be," said Gibbs, sounding a little angry.

 

Annoyed at being told how he should feel, Tony said, "Yeah well, it's not like I can do anything about it. It's the way it is." He was going to turn on his side, away from Gibbs, but the pull of the cuff on his wrist reminded him it wasn't a good idea. Even with the padding he'd added, the steel bit into his bruised wrist. Tony swore under his breath. "Damn handcuffs."

 

"Look, I want…I…" Gibbs made a frustrated sound.

 

Tony turned back to face his boss and snapped, " _What_?" There was such a long silence that he thought Gibbs had fallen asleep. "Sorry, didn't mean to…" Tony said quietly.

 

With some effort, Gibbs got up on one elbow and faced Tony, mere inches away. He spoke quite clearly, as if what he was saying was very important, as if he wanted to make sure that Tony understood him. "They - were - _wrong_."

 

"Wrong?" Tony stared into Gibbs' eyes, wondering how such icy blue eyes seemed to hold so much warmth.

 

Gibbs sighed deeply. "Look, Tony, you're worth the effort, and anyone who can't see that…well, they're an idiot."

 

"But nobody wants…"

 

"Yeah, well, I do. _I_ want you."

 

There was another long silence, this time as Tony tried to figure out if he'd heard Jethro correctly, and then as he wondered what the hell the correct response should be. Jethro was saying he wanted him. _Him_. Was he serious? He sure seemed to be, only…it wasn't possible. In the end, still in a state of disbelief, Tony laughed nervously. "Are you coming on to me, Jethro?"

 

In reply, Gibbs gave a short laugh, and then he laughed for real, wrapping his arms around his sore ribs. Tony smiled in an automatic response and soon Gibbs stopped to wipe his eyes and said in a shaky voice, "Guess I _am_ coming on to you, Tony. Looks like there's a first for everything."

 

To Tony, the sight of Leroy Jethro Gibbs laughing sincerely, and without any inhibition, was one of those extraordinary events that occurred so rarely, it could be called monumental. "Um…don't quite know…wow," Tony said, and then, he too laughed. "Wow. That was unexpected. Nice though. Really nice. More than nice because, under these circumstances, _nice_ is not an adequate word, not by any stretch of the imagination. Only…are you sure you mean it, because if you don't, and it's some kind of pain-induced delusion, I think we can allow you a 'get out of jail free' card and–"

 

"DiNozzo!"

 

"Yes, Boss?"

 

"I don't _want_ a 'get out of jail free' card."

 

Tony swallowed and asked, his voice a whisper of disbelief, "You don't?"

 

Gibbs shook his head slowly. "Nope."

 

Tony should have been shocked, like deeply shocked, right down to his core. After all, this was _Gibbs_. But somehow, for some unfathomable reason, it made sense. Okay, it made a twisted, my-fantasy-is-coming-fucking-true kind of sense, but Tony wasn't going to do anything to mess this up. A warm feeling that centered in his belly started to expand until it reached his chest. His heart fluttered with anticipation and excitement. Gibbs' eyes never left his face, and Tony, mesmerized, watched them soften, and then narrow in amusement and some other emotion that Tony couldn't quite believe he was seeing. He swallowed hard and asked, "Really?"

 

"Really. Only…I didn't come out right." Gibbs shook his head again, as if he was having trouble getting the words out.

 

"You're saying you regret it?" asked Tony, still very much unsure of what was going on. Maybe he'd been imagining it, or jumping the gun.

 

"Regret it? Hell, no! Thing is, I'm just saying…we don't have to follow through if you're not..." Gibbs rubbed his face as if he were too tired to continue and sighed. "Maybe I'm just punch-drunk from lack of sleep."

 

Tony waited a moment and then nodded slightly. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but how about we get some sleep and take this up another time? Like when we're not quite so…attached to each other?"

 

This was the point at which the person sharing Tony's bed usually rolled away and literally gave him the cold shoulder, or they hastily dressed and lied between their teeth with a 'It's been good but…uh…see you around. No thanks, I don't need your number.'

 

Only Gibbs didn't do that. He didn't leave or pull away, or make any excuses. Instead, he took Tony's hand in his warm, dry, callused hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, and Tony's heart leaped with joy.

 

Gibbs had grasped Tony's hand several times that day – and Tony had taken Gibbs' hand in his, too – usually with the intention of preventing the handcuffs from cutting into their bruised wrists. But this time it felt different. It felt as though there was a significance to the simple act, just as Gibbs' words had gained meaning beyond the obvious. Tony sensed it, and he was pretty sure Gibbs did, too.

 

"We'll talk. After this is all done. When we're back home." Gibbs assured Tony, "It'll be fine."

 

Gibbs was volunteering to talk? And he sounded so certain, too. Tony was so bemused at what was going on and what it might mean, that it was easiest to follow the older man's lead. "Talk? Us? Okay. That'll be good."

 

"I mean it, Tony."

 

"Okay."

 

"Okay then."

 

"Uh…Gibbs?"

 

"Mmmm?"

 

Tony had to ask, one more time. "Are you _sure_ …?"

 

Gibbs snorted fondly. "I am _sure,_ and we'll have plenty to talk about, but not right now. Get some rest."

 

Tony sighed and closed his eyes, mumbling, "'Kay, Boss."

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

Tony sat up, instantly alert. He must have fallen asleep. A glance at Gibbs told him the older man was also awake.

 

"Lights," said Gibbs, indicating the window, where flashing red and blue lights were reflected in the glass, and across the ceiling, too.

 

Tony slid off the far side of the bed but he couldn't get to the window even though he stretched as far as his handcuffed arm allowed him. Any further and he'd end up dragging Gibbs off the bed.

 

Gibbs grunted and swung his legs over to join Tony at the hotel room window. A black-and-white was parked in front of their hotel, its rooftop emergency lights flashing. As they watched, another vehicle pulled up behind the patrol car and its driver got out to talk to the patrol cop.

 

Tony immediately recognized the new arrival as Deputy Roper, the big deputy who had beaten up and tasered Gibbs. "Damn!" Tony exclaimed.

 

The uniformed police officer stood in the street talking to Deputy Roper, motioning up and down the street.

 

Gibbs said, "They don't know we're here."

 

"You sure?"

 

"They wouldn't be parked out there with the damn lights flashing if they did."

 

But the cops were definitely looking for them. They'd check the hotel first, and there was another motel just down the street. "You think Millie will spill the beans?" Tony asked, hoping the old lady at the front desk would keep their whereabouts a secret.

 

"You wanna take that chance?" Gibbs asked, not waiting for an answer as he headed for the door.

 

"Wait!" Tony stopped to grab the screwdriver, just in case they ever made it to the car they'd chosen, in advance, to steal. A second later they were out the door and heading down the hall. Tony glanced over at Gibbs, glad to see he wasn't having any trouble keeping up with him, pace for pace.

 

"Stairs," Gibbs ordered, keeping his voice down.

 

They made for the stairway at the far end of the hall, but just as they were hurrying past the elevator, it dinged. No way could they make it to the stairway door; whoever was exiting the elevator would see them, or be alerted by their movement if they ran for it. Gibbs grabbed Tony's arm and they flattened themselves against the first doorway, just past the elevator, even though it didn't really provide any cover. The hallway was pretty dark though, with dim lighting, so there was a chance that whoever was getting off on their floor wouldn't notice them at first. Even a couple of seconds lead would be to their advantage, and Tony knew they needed any break they could get. Tony stood so close to Gibbs, he could feel the heat coming off his body and, of all things, he could smell the aroma of sawdust coming off him, too.

 

The elevator door slowly slid open with its signature groan and ping, and out stepped Deputy Roper, alone. He could have easily turned his head to his left and seen them, but instead, the big deputy looked in the other direction first, towards the room Tony and Gibbs had been occupying.

 

There was no time to discuss their plan of attack – or retreat – but then, there was no need. Gibbs and Tony swiftly moved forward together, with the intent to take the deputy down.

 

It was as if they had planned the move in advance, it went so smoothly. The fugitives took a couple of steps forward, raised their cuffed hands and brought the chain down over Deputy Roper's head. It was a vicious move, and not one Tony would normally employ, but the second Gibbs had raised his right arm, Tony had known what they had to do. The second the chain was against the deputy's throat, both Gibbs and Tony pulled back hard. It all happened so fast, Deputy Roper never had a chance.

 

The deputy's hands instinctively flew to the handcuff chain biting into his throat, making horrible choking noises, but together the two NCIS agents yanked him back and off balance, showing no mercy. With a sweeping kick, Gibbs knocked Roper's legs out from under him. The deputy fell hard on his back, the impact stunning him. He struggled futilely to get the chain off his neck, and only when his face started to turn an ugly shade of red, did Gibbs straighten up, releasing the man from the chokehold.

 

Tony followed Gibbs' lead and stepped back, getting his handcuffed hand out of the way. Roper was coughing and making odd sounds in the back of his throat, but even so, he made a move for his gun.

 

Gibbs stomped on the deputy's wrist, causing him to scream in pain. "Get the fuck off me!"

 

"You won't be needing this," Gibbs said, taking the gun and handing it to Tony. He unbuckled the deputy's gunbelt, and with Tony's help, he rolled the big man, pulling the cop's service belt out from under him.

 

Roper struggled but he wasn't going anywhere with Tony stepping on his other arm and now pointing the gun at him. Tony frisked him, grabbing his cell phone and keys. He only glanced at the key ring, but saw not only were there car keys on it, but several handcuff keys. "Why lookee here, Gibbs," Tony said, jangling the keys. Deputy Roper continued to struggle and swear at them, so Tony leaned over and said harshly, "If I were you, I'd be nice to my partner here. He's got a bad temper at the best of times and you _really_ don't want to get him mad, especially as you're the asshole who worked him over."

 

"You two resisted arrest! You deserved everything you got, and when I get up I'm gonna finish the job. Lowlifes like you should be taken out back and shot instead of taking up space in our jail, and it's gonna be my pleasure to take good care of you two fuckers," Roper said, practically spitting the words at them. "Fuck you!"

 

"Not gonna happen," Gibbs growled.

 

"Uh oh, now he's _really_ mad," Tony warned Roper. It wasn't easy holding the guy down like this and he'd prefer to get the man cuffed and secured until the proper authorities could take care of him. Not that Tony was sure who the proper authorities _were_ at this time, other than their own NCIS people. "Can we go home now, Boss?"

 

Gibbs glared balefully at Roper and held the deputy's own gun on him. "Where's the key to these goddam cuffs?" When the deputy didn't immediately reply, Gibbs stepped harder on the man's wrist, putting more pressure on i.

 

"Key ring," Deputy Roper ground out. "Let up off my wrist! You're gonna break it!"

 

Tony handed the key ring to Gibbs and continued to hold down Deputy Roper while Gibbs fiddled with the keys. "If there's a heavy key with a square end to it, we're home free."

 

Gibbs grunted, "Got it." A couple of seconds later, Gibbs unlocked the cuff from his wrist using the special Medelock key, then disengaged the heavy steel cuff from Tony's left wrist. For the first time in 24 hours, the two men were no longer joined together. Their eyes met for a long moment, and Gibbs nodded at Tony while carefully holding his sore wrist and groaning in relief.

 

Unable to prevent a smile from blossoming, Tony launched into an onslaught of thanks. "Finally! What a relief! I'm going to soak my wrist in icy water or maybe chilled Champagne! I thought we'd never get them off! I'm free! You're free, too! Not that it was so terrible being handcuffed to you, Boss, because…well, because it was _you_."

 

Gibbs rolled his eyes but Tony caught a small smirk, too.

 

Roper, still on the ground, spluttered, "You won't…won't get away with this! You're nothing but two-bit criminals, too stupid to–"

 

Tony shook his head. "Hey! You're in no position to be calling anyone stupid, bud. Where's your partner, the little weasel? What's his name? Tatum, right?"

 

"Fuck you!"

 

"Now, now, that's not very nice," Tony replied. He removed his foot from Roper's arm and hauled the big guy, with Gibbs' help, to his feet. "Doesn't matter. Get up. Walk that way, asshole," he said, getting a good hold on Roper's wrist and forcing it behind his back until the man cried out in pain.

 

Gibbs put pressure Roper's other arm and pushed him towards the room they had just left in a hurry. Deputy Roper fought them all the way, but Gibbs and Tony made short work of handcuffing him to a big iron radiator that had been there since 1890, according to the date cast on its side.

 

Tony found a certain satisfaction in using the Medelock cuffs to secure Roper's hands behind his back, running the chain around the sturdy radiator. "I hope you enjoy them as much as we did," Tony said with a grim smile.

 

Roper pulled at the cuffs and shouted, "You can't do this to me! I'm the law around here!"

 

"You shoulda thought of that before you got friendly with Pannatero. Where is he? He pay you to look the other way?" Gibbs demanded.

 

It looked like there was no love lost between Deputy Roper and the weapons dealer. "That asswipe? I don't have anything to do with him. You got a problem with him, you go talk to Sheriff Boyd."

 

"Did Sheriff Boyd take him into custody? He arrest him?"

 

Roper shook his head. "Why would he do that?"

 

Tony snorted. "Uh, because he's a weapons dealer who was trying to buy national defense plans?"

 

From the blank look on Deputy Roper's face, he hadn't known about that. He said, sounding a little unsure, "When Pannatero came to town, Sheriff Boyd told us to look the other way."

 

Tony said, "So your sheriff is on the take."

 

"They might be buddies from way back," Roper said cautiously. He shook his head, apparently unwilling to incriminate his boss. Looking suspiciously from Tony to Gibbs, he asked, "So what's this got to do with you two jamokes?"

 

Tony laughed and said to Gibbs, "Wow, he's calling you a jamoke, Boss." To Roper he said, "No, we are definitely not jamokes. We're federal agents, from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and even if you weren't currently handcuffed to a radiator in Flypaper Hotel, in Dead End, Virginia, _and_ in a big heap of trouble, I'd recommend you consider a change in attitude, and really fast. See, causing bodily harm to an NCIS special agent, especially to my boss here, means you'll be experiencing the traditional Navy punishment called keelhauling. I'll let our ME explain the origins of that particular form of Naval punishment, but meanwhile I'll give you something to think about. See, it's pretty much guaranteed that when your naked body is dragged across the barnacles under the hull of the boat, all your skin will be scraped off your body, sorta like a cheese grater. And if that doesn't kill you first, you're pretty much guaranteed to drown."

 

Roper was staring wide-eyed at Tony, his mouth hanging a little open.

 

Gibbs snapped, "DiNozzo!"

 

"C'mon, Boss, I'm just poking at the dead man walking. He deserves it after what he did to us."

 

Gibbs sighed and turned back to the deputy. "Where's Deputy Tatum? Is he with you?"

 

The fight seemed to go out of the big deputy, and he reluctantly said, "No. He was ordered to work with the feds, to find the buyers who were at that meeting. Sheriff Boyd let Tatum go, with orders to keep him in the loop. Boyd wasn't real happy with them coming in and taking over like they owned the place."

 

"And you?" asked Gibbs.

 

"I got orders to work with the local LEOs to track you two felons down." Apparently Roper realized it wasn't in his best interest to be running off at the mouth, so he clammed up.

 

Tony and Gibbs moved over near the door and talked in low tones. "Do you think the feds he's talking about are NCIS?" Tony asked Gibbs. "Our people might be close. We could connect with them, get an escort back to the Navy Yard." Tony though that Gibbs looked more like he should be heading to a hospital, and not the office, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

 

"No, we finish this on our own," Gibbs said adamantly. "Those are the director's orders. This is _our_ case; we see it through to the end."

 

"Boss…"

 

"We don't have time to locate these feds, and it's too risky. We're still wanted men," Gibbs said.

 

They couldn’t be more than a couple of hours from DC, so Tony relented. "All right. What about him?"

 

"Leave him."

 

They made sure that Deputy Roper was secure, and Tony gagged him for good measure. The man complained loudly, even when Tony tied long strips of a torn pillowcase around his mouth. Tony hated the man for being a crooked cop, and for putting them in danger, but most of all, he hated the man for hurting Gibbs.

 

Just as they were about to leave, Tony stopped Gibbs. He pulled the taser off the deputy's service belt and looked into Gibbs' eyes. "I'm not leaving this unfinished."

 

"Tony…"

 

"No, Gibbs, I want my revenge, even if it's just zapping him a couple of times. Or…do you want the honors?"

 

"Nope. You go ahead," Gibbs urged.

 

Together they stood a few feet from the deputy. Tony turned the taser on, aimed it at Roper and let him have it. The two prongs connected with Roper's chest, and at the surge of electricity, the man jerked wildly, his agonized screams barely muffled by the gag.

 

It was Gibbs who called a stop to it, pulling the weapon out of Tony's hand and tossing it onto the bed. "Satisfied?" he asked.

 

Tony shook his head, "No. Not really." He had wanted revenge, payback, whatever you wanted to call it. He had wanted to make Roper suffer even if he knew it wouldn't take their own pain away. What Tony hadn't expected was how sick it made him feel, seeing the man who'd abused them writhing in agony on the hotel room floor. He'd never inflicted pain on anyone before, not with this type of purpose, and the whole thing left him feeling disgusted with himself.

 

"It's over. Walk away," Gibbs ordered.

 

Tony nodded, not sure that he could do that, but knowing he had to try.

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

"Take the elevator." Tony steered Gibbs into it while ignoring his protests. Gibbs didn't look great; the adrenaline that had given him the strength to take down the big deputy had worn off, by the looks of it. The two men took the stairs down to the lobby and cautiously looked around. Millie was snoring behind the desk, only the top of her head visible, and there was nobody else in sight. They escaped out the side door without anyone seeing them.

 

It was around five by then, and the sky was starting to lighten. Tony was worried about encountering the local cop in the black-and-white, but as they came around the side of the hotel, he spotted the cruiser just up the road in front of a seedy motel. "Looks like they split up to check out all the hotels. Millie must have told the deputy which room we were in," Tony said, disappointed.

 

"She has to live here, Tony," Gibbs said, sounding like he forgave her. "Hey," Gibbs said to Tony, jerking his chin at Deputy Roper's car, which was parked in front of their hotel.

 

"On it, Boss." It only took a moment for Tony to locate the car keys they'd taken off Roper. The two NCIS agents got in the vehicle, with Tony in the driver's seat, and drove off down the quiet street. Nobody shouted. Nobody shot at them or gave chase. It was almost too easy, especially after everything they'd been through.

 

Half a mile down the road, Tony started laughing, with relief as much as anything. "Holy shit! Did you feel the floor shake when that deputy hit the deck? You just swept his feet out from under him! Classic Gibbs take-down. Way to go, Boss!"

 

Gibbs smiled at Tony's enthusiasm. "Now we've got a car, weapons, police radio, cell phone…"

 

"Back in business," Tony agreed.

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**


	9. The Crash

**CHAPTER 9 - The Crash**

**NCIS: Corporal Punishment, 5x10**  
Tony: When you're dealing with a guy on the run, you gotta climb inside his head, think his thoughts. What would he do? Where would he go?  
McGee: Did one-armed man murder his wife?

~ • ~

By the time they got to the outskirts of DC, the sun was rising. Tony's eyes were gritty, his entire body was aching, and he was ready to zonk out on whatever flat surface was available. His own bed would be nice, but he had a feeling he wasn't going to make it home anytime soon. There'd be a de-briefing, statements, and lots of explaining to do. Ducky would be arriving at work soon (he always came in early), and he'd insist upon looking them both over. Knowing Ducky's vigilance, Tony imagined there'd be a trip to the ER to get them both checked out. That was going to be fun, with Gibbs grousing all the way.

 

Tony had convinced Gibbs they should call Director Morrow, to give him a heads up that they'd soon be at the Yard. He dialed the cell phone he'd taken off Deputy Roper, and waited until he was connected to the director's office before handing it off to Gibbs. "All yours, Boss."

 

"Have you got it?" barked Director Morrow.

 

Gibbs said, "Yes, sir. We've got the package. Can you tell the guard at the gate we'll be there in ten? We're the ones that look like fugitives. I don't want to get shot."

 

"I'll make sure security lets you in," Morrow replied.

 

It wasn't a secure line but Gibbs asked if all the players had been accounted for. Morrow said that NCIS's Team B, led by Special Agent Pacci, had discovered Deputy Roper and had him in custody. The deputy was fuming about the way he'd been manhandled, and complaining about the taser burns on his chest. "They had to get a torch to get those cuffs off him," said Morro. Gibbs just snorted at that.

 

Morrow said, "Pacci's team rounded up the other bidders but couldn't locate Pannatero or Lance Corporal Manhattan. You haven't left them in a ditch somewhere, have you, Gibbs?"

 

Gibbs glanced at Tony and replied, "No. We'll keep an eye out for them."

 

"And can you talk to Ms. Sciuto? She's been calling me every ten minutes for an update and –"

 

"Yes sir. Be there shortly." Gibbs snapped the phone shut and handed Tony the phone. "You hear what he said about Panantero and Manhattan?"

 

Tony nodded. The director's voice was loud and he'd heard both sides of the conversation. "We'll get them." Maybe not immediately, but there'd be a manhunt going on for the two men. "Would it be too much to wish they were handcuffed together and on the run in a 'gator-infested swamp with a pack of hungry hounds on their heels?"

 

Gibbs smiled a little, apparently agreeing. "Call Abby or she'll be hounding us."

 

Tony did as he was told, but five minutes of an over-caffeinated Abby after a long, hard, and mostly sleepless night was more than Tony could handle. "We're fine and we'll be there soon, Abs."

 

"Is that your version of fine or a real person's version of fine, Tony? Because _your_ version of fine means not really fine. You're too good at covering up that you're hurt and if you tell me that Gibbs is fine–"

 

He was trying to get off the phone after assuring her a dozen times they really were okay, when a glance in the rear-view mirror alerted Tony to a car following them. "Gotta go, Abs. Bad guys coming up fast." He dropped the phone and warned, "Gibbs," while pulling the gun out of the holster he'd removed from Deputy Roper.

 

"I'll check it," said Gibbs, taking the automatic. He ejected the clip, snapped it back in after a quick check, and returned the weapon to Tony. "Safety's on."

 

"Thanks."

 

Gibbs reached under the front seat and unclipped a sawn-off shotgun stored there. At Tony's raised eyebrows, he said, "Just keep your eyes on the road, DiNozzo." A sawed-off wasn't exactly standard issue in NCIS vehicles, but some counties still allowed patrol cars to keep one up front, for emergencies.

 

Gibbs turned in his seat to get a good look at the vehicle on their tail. It was a black SUV with Virginia plates, and it wasn't making any effort to hide that was following them. They'd stuck to secondary roads most of the way but had just jumped on 695, heading into the city.

 

Tony said, "I don't think they've been with us for long. How the hell did they find us?"

 

"This car," Gibbs said, realizing they'd been idiots.

 

Tony turned and met his eyes, and Gibbs could see when it hit him. "Oh, shit, of course. The sheriff's department would LoJack their patrol cars."

 

"So they know where all their people are," Gibbs said, his lips compressed in irritation.

 

"Maybe we should've taken that Dodge Dart, after all," Tony said.

 

Tony glanced in the rear-view mirror, and then took the exit ramp at a slightly faster speed than was safe. He headed down South Capitol, and the SUV sped after them. They were only about 5 car lengths behind and slowly moving up through the increasingly heavy traffic. Gibbs started to worry that the SUV was going to try to ram them, or run them off the road, and some morning commuters were likely to get hurt. Luckily, they were only a couple of minutes from the Navy Yard, where they should be able to pull over and confront the driver of the SUV in comparative safety. Unless someone did something stupid like start shooting.

 

"Hey, you know what, Boss? We're in a _cop car_."

 

Gibbs stared at Tony like he was crazy for stating the obvious. "Yeah, I got that, DiNozzo."

 

"That means we've got a siren." Tony grinned at Gibbs and reached forward, flipping a switch on the dashboard. All of a sudden the wail of the emergency siren blared from their stolen Sheriff's Department car. "Lights, too," Tony shouted over the noise, pleased with himself as they barreled down the broad street, making the early morning vehicles move quickly to the side of the road and out of their way. Tony took a sharp left, steering the sedan towards the sentry post at the gate of the Navy Yard. "Home sweet home," he said with a big smile.

 

Gibbs turned to check out the SUV pursuing them, and found the large vehicle was only a car's length behind. "We need to take them down, DiNozzo."

 

"Sure thing, Boss."

 

They were only yards from the gate when Tony realized they'd never get past the guards, or the cement barricade that prevented unauthorized vehicles from gaining entry. The guards were already preparing their defense as the speeding vehicles barreled towards them.

 

"Hang on," Tony called to Gibbs, while turning the wheel hard. He hit the brakes, and with tires screeching, their car skidded in a barely controlled arc, wobbling a little before coming to a rest within feet of the NCIS guardhouse. The security guards scrambled out, weapons at the ready, prepared to counter what appeared to be an attempt to breach base security.

 

Tony's intention was to jump out and use the car as a shield, but neither he nor Gibbs had a chance to even get their seatbelts undone. The SUV kept on coming, right on their tail, and in the split second before the out-of-control vehicle crashed into them full-on, Tony realized the driver hadn't lost control at all, but was intentionally ramming them.

 

The whole crash sequence played out in slow motion. It was like a scene from _Armed and Dangerous_ , with John Candy commandeering an 18-wheeler, plowing through the traffic, all screeching tires and crunching metal as the SUV smashed into them. Tony raised his arm instinctively as their car rocked wildly and threatened to roll over from the sheer force of the impact. Tony's window blew out, showering glass all over him and the air immediately became heavy with gasoline fumes. Gibbs shouted, metal screamed and tore, and Tony was thrown forward. His head exploded with brilliant light and there was an eternal heartbeat of excruciating pain. _'So this is how it ends.'_

 

Gibbs shouted, "Ton–," and there was darkness.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

Tony's hearing came back first. It was weird, like someone threw a switch. It was loud, lots of commotion and confusion, and he inhaled of those great, heaving breaths you take when you've been underwater for too long and you suddenly launch to the surface, gasping. Like one of those…those…he couldn’t think of the word but he could see the shape, big and dark, sleek and stinking of fish. _Whale. That's the word. Breeching. Breathing._

"Breathe, Tony. That's it."

 

"You're okay. We're gonna take good care of you. Just keep…"

 

Breathing brought on pain constricting his chest, and then his head – _Oh God, my head_ – and he cried out, trying to tell them to stop. He was being lifted and moved and that hurt even more, _fuck_ , which made him cry out in pain. His face felt wet and when he raised a hand to wipe it away, someone took hold of it. They were talking over him with a sense of urgency, but Tony couldn’t make sense of it, and the pain got really bad, and he thought maybe he was crying.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

Tony woke up in a bed with all sorts of shit connected to all sorts of parts of his body: wires, tubes, the works. The good news was the pain was just a dull thrumming beat in his head at first, though that soon got worse. He woke up a little more and moved, which was a huge mistake, because agonizing pain shot through his shoulder, down to his hip and…well, it pretty much encompassed the entire left side of his body in what could only be described as a fiery hell. He gasped, and cried out, and gasped some more, and once he could open his eyes, Tony blinked a few times, trying to clear them. He lifted his head – another _big_ mistake – and his eyelids slammed shut. "Please," he breathed. _Please, someone just put me out of my misery_.

 

His hand…was being held…someone…Gibbs…Tony smiled. He even risked opening his eyes just a little more, to confirm what truly needed no confirmation. "Gibbs," he whispered, smiling at the blue eyes in the too-tired face. "You've got real nice eyes," he mumbled.

 

Damned if Gibbs didn't blush, which struck Tony as being very funny. He gave a weak laugh, but the laughter made his entire body seize up, which made the humor sort of bleed out. Exhausted, he lay there limply. The pain slowly receded. Tony was vaguely aware that it might have had something to do with Gibbs' thumb pressing on a button.

 

"Sleep, Tony."

 

Before he did, Tony had to know what was going on. "Wha'…happ'n'd?"

 

"Don't worry about anything. You'll be fine."

 

"Don'…un'erstand…I get shot?"

 

"No, we were in an accident. You rest now."

 

Tony started to do as he was told, but as his eyelids slipped closed he remembered getting slammed by the SUV, the screeching metal, the glass imploding in the crash. He hoped that whoever had been driving the SUV was suffering more than he was. It took him a while to find the strength to ask, "Gibbs?"

 

"Thought you were asleep," Gibbs said from somewhere across the room.

 

Tony carefully turned his head and saw Gibbs was leaning back on a pile of pillows on the other hospital bed. He had a book in his hand, and was wearing a t-shirt and loose pants, not a skimpy hospital gown. There was a telltale bruise in the crook of Gibbs' left arm, but no sign of an IV. Tony processed all of the clues and asked weakly, "How long've we been here?"

 

"Two days," Gibbs said, not sounding particularly pleased.

 

"Who was driving? You okay? Did I break… my leg?" His left leg ached deep down but he wasn't certain if it was broken. He tried to move his leg and immediately regretted it. Sweat broke out all over his body and for a minute he thought he was going to throw up, which was probably not a good idea. Instead he groaned a little.

 

Gibbs hovered at the bedside, looking concerned. Well, actually, he was frowning and pursing his lips in a way that made Tony wonder what it would be like to kiss him.

 

Gibbs shook his head a little, probably knowing that Tony wasn't going to rest until he got the lowdown on what had been going on. "Nothing was broken except your head. Lots of deep bruising all down your left side though. Doc says you're lucky you didn't get a dislocated hip. There are some small cuts on your face, a few stitches–"

 

"My face?" Tony started to breathe fast. He raised his hand to investigate.

 

"Hey! Don't touch! It'll be fine. It's minor, Tony."

 

Tony lowered his hand, taking Gibbs' word for it. He blinked slowly. The medication was working now and he felt relaxed, and a lot better than earlier. "Oh. Okay. I'm okay. Are you okay, Boss?"

 

Gibbs shrugged off his own injuries. "I'm fine, Tony. Technically, I got discharged yesterday."

 

Tony didn't have enough working brain cells to figure out why Gibbs was still in the hospital if he'd been released. Instead of pursuing that line of questioning, he asked, "The driver? Who…?"

 

"Lance Corporal Manhattan was at the wheel and Pannatero was with him," Gibbs said, looking grim.

 

That took a minute to digest. "How'd they find us? The LoJack?"

 

Gibbs sighed. "If I tell you, will you go to sleep, DiNozzo?"

 

Tony noticed Gibbs was holding himself like a man who'd gone a few rounds with a heavyweight, and he had to remind himself that Gibbs had not only been beaten up by the deputies, but he'd been involved in the crash, too. "I guess," Tony said, wondering what had happened to make Gibbs call him 'Tony'.

 

Gibbs pulled up a chair at Tony's bedside and eased into it. "Turns out Lance Corporal Manhattan knew you from somewhere. After we grabbed the flash drive and left the meeting in a hurry, he remembered you were NCIS. Pannatero called the sheriff, to get him and his men to head us off at the pass."

 

Tony swore under his breath. "We must have run into Manhattan during a case." If so, Tony had no recollection, but then they boarded a lot of ships and visited a lot of bases during the course of their investigations.

 

Gibbs continued, "Manhattan wanted to get his hands on the flash drive so he could sell it to Pannatero–"

 

Tony tried to sit up, exclaiming, "The flash drive!" He didn't get very far, between the pain coursing through his body and Gibbs' hand on his shoulder. "Ow…ow…ow."

 

Gibbs gently pressed Tony back down and assured him that the stolen flash drive was now safely in the hands of the SecNav. "The job is done, DiNozzo. Everything's secure."

 

Tony relaxed, satisfied that they'd accomplished their assignment, even if their journey back to DC hadn't been as straightforward as expected. "Who interrogated them, anyway?"

 

"Pacci and Balbao had the privilege."

 

"I hope they used rubber hoses," Tony said vehemently.

 

"Phone books," Gibbs said with a small smirk. "They brought in the other deputy and the sheriff, too. None of them are going home anytime soon."

 

"Good. So…you were saying?" Tony slowly licked his lips and tried to stay awake. It wasn't easy.

 

"Yeah. So Manhattan and Pannatero teamed up," Gibbs explained. "Pannatero found out from the sheriff that we'd stolen the deputy's car, so Sheriff Boyd tracked the car on their system. He relayed our location to them. They were on their way here, and it was our bad luck that they fell in behind us on the highway."

 

"Why didn't any cops along the way stop us? There had to be a BOLO out."

 

"Turns out Sheriff Boyd only put a county-wide BOLO. He knew if we got stopped by any LEOs outside his jurisdiction, they'd lose the chance to get hold of the weapon system plans. Boyd had a deal with Lance Corporal Manhattan to provide a safe venue for the meet, and obviously that didn't work out too well. If they lost the buyer, he was out a hefty commission."

 

"But we got them. _You_ got them," Tony said with pride.

 

"Well, yeah. When Pannatero crawled out of the SUV, I shot him in the knee. He won't be walking for a long time. The lance corporal, he was brought down by the guards at the gate. They didn't do much damage so he's in the brig," Gibbs said as if that was the end of the story.

 

Tony pulled a dissatisfied face and Gibbs sent him an inquiring look.

 

"It's just that I missed the good part."

 

Gibbs just about growled, "The _good_ part?"

 

"Well, yeah, taking down the bad guys. Instead, I got smashed up and…and I ended up being road kill."

 

Gibbs glared at Tony. "No, it was all about teamwork, DiNozzo. We worked together and that’s what brought them down. Together we got Deputy Roper. And I never could've driven all the way back here in shape I was in."

 

Tony nodded, accepting what Gibbs said, and relieved it was over. "You sure you're okay?"

 

"You should be more concerned about yourself."

 

"Yeah, okay, but I'm asking about you," Tony insisted.

 

"I'm fine."

 

Tony raised an eyebrow.

 

"My ribs are sorta bruised," Gibbs admitted reluctantly, shifting uneasily in the hard hospital chair.

 

"And?"

 

"Okay, a couple of them were cracked, but not bad. Concussion: same thing, not bad." Gibbs held up his right hand, showing his bruised wrist. "This is the worst. They've been slathering it with some ointment that smells like horse liniment, but it helps."

 

"It looks like an over-ripe banana," Tony agreed. He looked at his bruised left wrist and thought he'd never again joke about using cuffs for bedroom play. Drained, Tony closed his eyes, but was surprised a moment later when he opened them, to find Gibbs standing over him. "Boss? Can I ask you something?"

 

"Sure, Tony."

 

"Is my face badly messed up?" Tony could feel the pull of stitches but he was afraid to ask for a mirror.

 

Gibbs reached out, almost tentatively, and stroked Tony's hair back from his forehead. "You've got a couple of deep cuts along the hairline. About ten stitches each. There's one, about an inch, on your forehead. The others are all small. The doc says they'll fade away, given time. Anything else?"

 

Tony looked into Gibbs' eyes and tried to be brave when he asked, "What about us?"

 

For a long moment, Gibbs said nothing. Then he said, sounding slightly defiant, "You're going home with me as soon as they release you."

 

"I am?"

 

"Yeah, Tony, you are."

 

"Nice," said Tony, loving the feeling of Gibbs touching his hair, and wondering if he could possibly spend his life like this, being taken care of by the man he loved. Tony just couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. "Was that the big talk you promised we'd have?"

 

He heard a huff of breath, Gibbs laughing in his own quiet way. "Yeah, I guess it was."

 

That made Tony smile. Gibbs leaned over and gave him a gentle kiss. On the lips. And Tony was so taken aback that, for a moment, he forgot to respond. But as Gibbs pulled away, looking slightly disappointed, Tony reached up and touched his cheek, whispering, "Jethro," and they kissed again, mouths meeting, soft and full of promise.

 

Happy and full of wonder at the light in Jethro's eyes, Tony asked, "Jethro?"

 

"I thought I told you to go to sleep."

 

"I'm not…any more," Tony mumbled, closing his eyes.

 

"You're not…what?"

 

"Lonely," Tony whispered as he fell asleep.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

Two weeks later Tony was back at work, desk duty only. That was fine with him because at times his left hip was still aching badly at times, even though the bruising had changed from purple à sickly green à yellow. He was currently occupied with the personnel folders Gibbs had dumped on his desk and was doing preliminary interviews of candidates for Gibbs' team. As anyone who passed muster would also be _his_ teammate, Tony was glad he had a say in the matter. Of course Gibbs would make the final decision, and if the newbie stayed more than a week, there was a chance they'd stick it out long-term.

 

Tony was going to miss being working alone with Gibbs, but the upside was he was getting plenty of personal attention from his boss when off-duty. Although Tony had been spending more time at Jethro's house than at his own place since they'd come back, they hadn't actually _done_ anything yet. Jethro had said he was holding off until Tony was field-ready, but the truth was that he'd taken quite a beating, too. Concussions and cracked ribs take time to heal, even when you're a kick-ass-Marine-turned-special-agent named Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

 

Tony was, of course, chomping at the bit. He made it his business to tease Jethro when they were at home. He would lean waaaay over to look for something in the fridge while wearing his tightest designer jeans. While dressed in a pair of thin, silky boxers, he'd dance around and wiggle his ass to the tempo of a song on the radio. Tony made sure to use the bathroom at the same time as Jethro, even if was just to brush his teeth (while he just _happened_ to be shirtless), and he made a show of squeezing past Jethro in the hall or other tight spaces, rubbing up against him just enough to get the older man hot and bothered. Considering he'd never been interested in arousing a man before, Tony was surprised how much he was enjoying himself, and seeing Jethro's reaction – flushing, hiding his groin, lots of growling – was the best reward.

 

 _Soon_ , Tony thought. Soon, he'd have to put his money where his mouth was. Where his wiggling ass was. Just that morning, Jethro had pointed a finger at him, and told him that the minute Tony was deemed healthy, there would be serious payback. Tony wasn't sure if he was more scared or turned-on by that announcement. Turned on, he decided, grinning at the thought of what was to come.

 

Recovering while in Jethro's home, living in such close quarters with the man, had convinced Tony that he not only wanted their relationship to go to the next level, but that he was already so involved with the man that he was coming perilously close to feeling some seriously deep shit…like the L word. Okay, he could say it. "Love," Tony said, testing the way the word rolled off his tongue, the next time he was alone in the house. "Love. Love, love, loooove."

 

To Tony, finding that he cared so much for Jethro that it _hurt,_ was scary. It was also the first time he'd felt this way. If you didn't count Wendy, which he wasn't. Any feelings he'd had for her had died a pretty quick death once she'd shown her true colors. It hadn't taken much for her to break off their engagement once Tony had confided in her, told her what had gone down with Danny. It had broken Tony's heart to find out his partner was dirty, but having Wendy turn on him like she had, putting the blame on him…that had hurt him to the core.

 

Anyway, it was different with Jethro. They understood each other in a way that, even at work, could almost be called intimate. Although they were far from being equals at work, at home (Tony loved thinking of Jethro's house as 'home') they were certainly on more equal footing. It didn't _matter_ that Jethro was a guy. In fact, it seemed to enhance the erotic factor as far as Tony was concerned, even though neither of them had had any sexual experience with men.

 

"Jethro, would you count jerking off in the company of a dozen rowdy twelve-year old boys, around the campfire at Camp Wana-na-na, up in the Adirondacks, as a gay experience?"

 

Jethro just glared at him, so Tony took that as a 'no.'

 

Before he was re-qualified for field work, Tony had to pass an array of exams, including one given by Ducky, which was a lot tougher than any of the exams the 'real' doctors had given him. Gibbs was required to prove himself fit for duty, too. He'd had bruised ribs and a concussion, and one of the burns on his chest from being tasered had become infected, but by the end of the month he had recovered from his varied injuries. He'd been given a clean bill of health, he'd re-qualified with firearms, and he had the papers to prove it.

 

"Back to work," Gibbs had barked, while doing his best not to smile back at Tony, who was openly grinning at him.

 

Tony had convinced the psychiatrist that he'd emerged from the undercover assignment with no discernable mental or physical scars, and as soon as he'd said it, he realized that that it was true. He _was_ fine. The injuries he'd suffered in the collision were all healed; they'd responded well to physical therapy and to Jethro's gentle application of heat packs and deep rubs. His headaches had faded away, too. Now Tony liked to sit on the couch next to Jethro in the evening, and lean against his strong shoulder with his eyes closed. Tony liked sharing kisses with Jethro, and apparently Jethro really enjoyed kissing him, too, although that's as far as they'd taken it, so far.

 

Tony had one still-healing deep laceration and some small scars on his face from the shattered auto glass, and his wrist sometimes ached when the weather got damp, but Jethro said that was all in his mind. The thing was, Tony felt good inside, and it was due to the change in his relationship with Jethro. Tony knew, with absolute certainty, that _this_ was where he was supposed to be, with Jethro, and for the first time in his life he felt…settled…as if he'd finally come home.

 

Tony had to make it through Abby's assessment as well, which involved a lot of personal questions that rivaled those of the NCIS-appointed shrink. Although Abby could see through Tony's deflections and half-truths, and she even challenged the veracity of some of his replies, she seemed satisfied when Tony said, "If you don't believe me, ask Gibbs. You know nothing gets past that man."

 

Abby had smiled, happy that both Tony and Gibbs had come back in one piece. "You had me worried for a while, but now you look really good, Tony. I'd say you even look hot, in a special extra-hot kind of way that makes me think there's something going on with your love life."

 

"Love life?" Tony had asked nervously. "I'm just out of recovery, Abby!"

 

"Oh, all right. A big hug and then you can get back to work," Abby had said, sending a suspicious look Tony's way before she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

 

"Is an Abby-hug an official stamp of approval?" Tony had asked, amused.

 

"Yes, it is, mister, and don't you forget to duck next time someone comes after you! Unless it's Gibbs, of course," she'd said with a knowing smirk.

 

He loved Abby to death, but Tony didn't tell her that he was feeling on top of the world ('I am Charlie Potatoes,' as he'd told Jethro that morning over coffee and kisses) because last night, after he'd _finally_ been given the green light by both Ducky and Dr. Pitt, Jethro had said _yes_.

 

What he'd actually said was, "Goddam it, DiNozzo, get the hell upstairs and stop fooling around, would ya?"

 

Last night…Tony sighed…last night he had finally slept with Jethro, in a bed, for real, and they'd had incredible, life-affirming sex. And no handcuffs had been involved, and as far as Tony was concerned, they'd never _ever_ play a part in his sex life with Jethro.

 

Tony had stripped Jethro, much to Jethro's amusement, and then he'd torn his own clothes off before pouncing on the older man. There was little finesse about Tony's style that night. It was all fuck and take, but Jethro was soon shuddering on the brink of orgasm underneath him, while gripping his knees, pulling them to his chest, and crying out in pain/pleasure. Tony had paused in mid-thrust, in order to savor the moment, and the pride and awe, and dammit, the _love_ he could feel, did not even _begin_ to cover the emotions that coursed through him.

 

But then he'd started thrusting again, and the way Jethro encouraged him with strong direction was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard. "Harder! More angle. There. There! God, that's…yeah…fuck!"

 

"Not bad for our first time," Tony later bragged, while beaming at his lover. Jethro had rewarded Tony with a light headslap and the admonition not to have such a big head.

 

"Can you say, 'Get over it!' for me? And maybe slap me across the face?" Tony had requested. Jethro had stared at him as if he were crazy, so Tony added _Moonstruck_ to the list of must-see films.

 

But the best thing was that Tony had come to the conclusion that, based upon the way Jethro had been splayed out on the messy sheets, with jizz in his hair, panting heavily and moaning, "Oh God, fuck," he must have done a pretty stellar job. Now Tony was looking forward to a long weekend together. It would be just the two of them, no interruptions, this time with Jethro on top, if he had anything to say about it.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**


	10. Unbreakable

**CHAPTER 10 - Unbreakable**  
  


**NCIS: Baltimore, 8x22**  
Danny: See, that's why you can dress like that. 'Cause you're good-looking, but one of these days, the looks are going to run out.  
Tony: I plan to be safely married by then.

 

~ • ~

 

**_Two years later, November, 2005_ **

 

Tony stood before his colleagues and concluded the story about the time he and Gibbs had been on the run together, pursued by criminals and dirty cops, and how they had had to work together as a team in order to evade capture.

 

They'd made a good team, Tony told them, despite being handicapped by injuries, and being chained together with a set of unforgiving steel handcuffs. The stolen information was recovered and duly delivered to Director Morrow, and then to SecNav. Everybody had been happy. Well, except for the bad guys, who they'd taken into custody. They'd all been found guilty of crimes ranging from misuse of county property to espionage. Tony even got the DA to apply a charge of malicious wounding. Then Tony and Gibbs had taken a little time off and then returned to work, as good as new.

 

That was the story Tony told his co-workers, his friends and colleagues – minus the gory details of their injuries and how he'd taken care of Jethro when they were on the run. He never revealed how Jethro had taken care of him afterwards, opening his home and his heart to him. Tony didn't say a word about his intimate relationship with Jethro, or how it had started by him admitting he was living a lonely life – and Jethro telling him he didn't have to live that way – or how deeply he loved the man through all the good and the bad times they'd had since. Tony didn't let on just how crazy Jethro was about him, or how he would sometimes catch Jethro grinning for no apparent reason, although as soon as Jethro saw Tony grinning back, he'd put on a scowl and grumble under his breath.

 

Despite the fact Tony and Jethro had been together for a couple of years, nobody had caught on to their misdirection when, at the end of the day, Tony would head out in a northerly direction, and Gibbs would point his car west. Nobody knew how Tony and Jethro, two men whose lives had been heading in opposite directions, somehow ended up meeting at the same exact destination: at their home, in each other's arms, which was exactly where they belonged.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

"So, kids, that's how we brought the infamous weapons dealer Mickey Pannatero to justice, and prevented top-secret defense plans from being sold to the highest bidder," Tony said with a big smile.

 

"That is _it_?" Ziva demanded.

 

"What more do you want?" Tony looked to Gibbs for help, but he barely shrugged. Nope, he wasn't getting involved.

 

"What happened to his wife?" Abby asked.

 

Gibbs snorted. "I heard she's living high off the hog in the Bahamas."

 

McGee interjected, "I think Ziva wants to know if you guys came out of the experience having… learned anything."

 

Puzzled, Tony asked, "You mean like…always carry a Medelock key with you?"

 

Abby lightly slapped Tony's arm and laughed. "No, Tony. They want to know if you and Gibbs did some bro-bonding. You know, the kind of deep friendship a couple of guys discover when they're on the road together, sharing beds and handcuffs and sweat and fast food, though not necessarily in that order."

 

Tony could practically hear Gibbs growling from across the bullpen. He held his hands out, palms up, as if weighing a couple of possibilities. "Bro-bonding? Leroy Jethro Gibbs? Hmmm. Uh…no! No offense, Boss!" Tony had had enough prevaricating, so he gathered his gear and said loudly, "I don't know about you folks, but I am heading home! Food, sleep, more sleep. Maybe get in a classic film or two. I'm thinking something Hitchcock."

 

Tim said, "I thought you'd want to watch fugitive and chain gang movies. _Cool Hand Luke_ , _The Defiant Ones_?"

 

"Oh, no. Too close to home, Probie," said Tony. "Though _I am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang_ is a classic film-noir worth watching even if you haven't experienced being handcuffed to Gibbs. It's 1932. Paul Muni. This convict falls in love with his cellmate's sister…"

 

Gibbs broke in, saying impatiently, "Everyone, go home. Now."

 

There was a chorus of, "Yes, Boss," as the team members headed for the elevator.

 

Tony waited a few minutes before he left. Gibbs joined him in the elevator, both men staring straight ahead, both needing to catch up on their sleep. They hadn't quite reached the parking level when Gibbs turned to Tony and said, "I want to take you somewhere."

 

Surprised, Tony asked, "Where?"

 

"I don't know. Somewhere special. For our anniversary."

 

Tony's smile widened. "That's so sweet, Jethro."

 

Gibbs gave a small shrug and looked self-conscious.

 

"You know what I'd like, more than anything?" The elevator dinged and the door opened. The two men stepped out into the parking garage and they slowly walked towards their cars. Tony could see McGee and Ziva at a distance, still talking, but they were far enough away that he couldn’t make out their conversation.

 

Gibbs halted in his tracks and met Tony's eyes suspiciously. "We can only get a couple of days off, Tony."

 

Tony faced Gibbs, not touching him, or even getting so close anyone would think they were anything but colleagues having a word before heading home. But after hesitating, Tony reached out and laid his palm on Jethro's chest as he said, "I would like to see the place where you grew up, Jethro, where little Leroy had a mom and a dad and a normal childhood. I'd like to have a home-cooked meal surrounded by your relatives, a Norman Rockwell scene with Thanksgiving turkey, _Freedom from Want_ , 1943. Do you think that's something you can give me?"

 

Tony let his hand fall to his side, and he watched Jethro's expression change from uncertainty to resolve, with maybe a hint of fear flitting around there for a second or two.

 

Finally Jethro said, "You're asking a lot, Tony, but yeah. Yeah." He ducked his head and smiled, looking sideways at Tony as they started walking to their cars. "You do know that little Leroy got into a heap of trouble, right?"

 

Smirking, Tony nodded. "I figured as much. I mean, look at you now. Nothing but trouble. I'll just bet you got your sticky little hands into all sorts of places they shouldn't have been. You were a devil."

 

Gibbs laughed despite himself. "Takes one to know one."

 

"You saying I'm trouble?"

 

"Oh yeah, but then I knew that right from the start."

 

"Didn't stop you."

 

"I do like a challenge," Jethro shot back. Ziva drove past them, too fast, honking her horn. Jethro made sure he scowled at her. Tim followed at a more sedate pace, waving. Tony waved back.

 

Jethro walked to his car, saying over his shoulder, "Later, DiNozzo."

 

"Later, Boss."

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

**Epilogue**

 

"Shower?"

 

Loving the idea of getting some alone time with Jethro and soap and water, Tony said suggestively, "Oooh, together. I like together."

 

"Just wash up. You've got spunk in your hair," Jethro said, turning on the shower and pushing Tony in before the water had even had a chance to warm up.

 

Tony cringed and complained, "Ahhh, it's cold! Is this what our married life is going to be like? All 'hurry up' and cold showers because we don't have time for each other?"

 

"Who said we were getting married?" Jethro asked, not quite hiding a smile as he joined him.

 

The water warmed up quickly, and there was plenty of it now that Jethro had installed a large-capacity hot water heater in the basement. "I do believe _you_ mentioned marriage, my husband-to-be," Tony replied, lathering up Jethro's groin with some slippery liquid soap.

 

Jethro pushed Tony against the tiled wall and said, "Well, I am a man of my word, so I guess we'll have to get hitched, or find a judge during lunchtime."

 

Tony couldn’t stop smiling. "Again with the romantic. Marriage while on a coffee run. Only…I don't believe I heard the actual question, babe."

 

"Question?" Jethro busied himself sucking on Tony's neck hard enough to leave marks, making noises as if he were enjoying a good meal.  


"Yeah, actual question, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The 'will you marry me' thing. Oh my God, that feels good…"

 

Jethro pulled a face. "I am not going down on one knee."

 

"No, I think we can do without that part of it," Tony allowed with a smile. He arched an eyebrow and waited, caressing his lover's chest with soapy hands, rubbing his nipples with every downstroke.

 

Jethro slid his arms around Tony's back and pulled him flush against him under the streaming water. They both smiled at the same time when their cocks rubbed against each other, and Jethro said in a low, husky voice, "Marry me, Tony. Be mine."

 

Tony's smile broadened and he said without hesitation, "Yes, I will marry you, Jethro. And you know damned well that I've been yours since the first moment we laid eyes on each other. You clinched the deal when we were handcuffed together, worrying about me because you thought I was lonely."

 

"Ditto," said Jethro with a big laugh. "Guess this means a trip up north to make it legal."

 

"I don't need legal. I don't even need an audience. I know it's really hard for you to say what you're feeling, but this one time, I'd really like for us to say the words, Jethro, to speak whatever constitutes as vows between us. I just want to hear it from your lips."

 

"Then that's what you'll get, Tony," Jethro said, his eyes bright with emotion. "Because there've been times you've been there for me that I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have made it through on my own. My life is better for having you in it, and don't you ever doubt it, or doubt how much I love you, Tony."

 

"Wow…that's…shit, you're gonna make me cry," Tony said, and then kissed the man of his dreams, sealing the deal with all the love and affection he was feeling, knowing that he couldn’t be any happier than he was at that moment.

 

"Just promise me something," Tony said in between kisses.

 

"Anything," Jethro replied.

 

"Can you promise me we'll never go to that part of Virginia ever again?"

 

"Promise," Jethro said easily.

 

Once out of the shower, and dried off, the two men sank gratefully into their bed. "You think we should invite anyone to the wedding?" Tony asked.

 

"I thought you didn't need a real wedding," Jethro complained.

 

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind," Tony replied, knowing Jethro wasn't really annoyed. "I'd like some friends to be there."

 

"You mean people from work?"

 

"Yes, for starters."

 

"We'd have to tell them first," Jethro pointed out. "Except Abby. You ready for that?"

 

Tony thought for a minute and then nodded. "Maybe we could have a big party out back. Barbecue, get a small band, make an announcement."

 

"Kill a few birds with one stone, huh?"

 

"We can bring Millie up. She can be the flower girl," Tony said, laughing. "Give out handcuffs as wedding favors."

 

"Okay, now you're talking crazy, Tony." Jethro rolled over and kissed Tony, his lips warm and sensuous, and Tony melted into his arms.

 

"That's 'cause I _am_ crazy," Tony murmured against Jethro's lips.

 

"If I'd known that before I hired you…" Jethro countered.

 

"I'm crazy about _you_ , crazy enough to want to spend my life with you, Jethro."

 

"Charlie," Jethro corrected.

 

"What?"

 

"Charlie Potatoes, top of the world," Jethro said with a smile. "Because of you, Tony."

 

Tony snuggled against his husband-to-be's side and mumbled, "Night, babe."

 

"You, too, babe," Jethro said softly. He kissed Tony's temple and closed his eyes, wondering if he'd ever have revealed his feelings for Tony if they hadn't been handcuffed together and on the run. It wasn't the first time he'd wondered about it, but as he fell asleep, it came to Jethro that he and Tony were destined to be bound together, right from the beginning, handcuffs or no handcuffs. Somehow, they would have found a way.

 

**~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~**

 

At times, Tony wondered how any of Jethro's wives had managed to even _get_ him to the altar, much less stick being married to him past the first anniversary. Jethro was a bastard at times, no doubt about it, but Tony had survived four years so far, working closely with the guy. He admired Gibbs (funny, he always thought of him as Gibbs at work) and he would, frankly, do anything for the man.

 

Tony also knew what made Gibbs tick, what made him angry and frustrated, proud and pleased, and he knew _exactly_ what put that self-satisfied smirk on Gibbs' face. Most people found it difficult to tell what Gibbs was feeling but Tony had no problem. It wasn't Gibbs' expression or his body language that gave it away. Somehow Tony just _knew_ , like he had a sixth sense about such things.

 

And on the flip side, Gibbs was just about the only person who had a good idea of what was going on in Tony's head. He saw through all the bullshit and posing and, whether Tony liked it or not, Gibbs knew exactly how much leeway to give him, when to put his foot down, and when to reward him. Tony loved that Gibbs got him, loved that the man cared enough to put up with him, loved that he'd taken the time, right from day one, to do right by him. Nobody else had ever done any of that for Tony, not in his entire life, and every time Gibbs sent him one of those looks, the kind that said, "I have no idea how we came to this point but I really don't care; all that matters is I love you," (only in actuality, Gibbs was probably thinking something more along the lines of, "Tony. Mine.") Tony felt the ties that bound them together grow even stronger.

 

He thought of an old TV series from back in '88 called _Freddy's Nightmares_ , in which the evil dream-killer Freddy Kreuger hosted an anthology of short stories. Most of them were pretty predictable, and Tony wasn't into the horror genre, but there was a line that got stuck in his mind. Freddy said, while chewing on a chain, "These are the ties that bind, the chains of love, unbreakable, indestructible, and tasty, too." Tony chuckled to himself, thinking that life and love with Jethro was exactly that, a banquet of steak and bourbon served on a bed of roses…with handcuffs on the side.

 

**~ • ~~ end ~ • ~**


End file.
